FullReads

Perhaps it was his very inability to grasp in that exhausted state the full comprehension of the doctor’s meaning, perhaps because the physical benumbing of his brain was stronger than any mental excitement, but he slept again until the doctor reappeared. “You’re doing well enough now, colonel,” said the physician, after a brief examination of his patient, “and I think we can afford to wake you up a bit, and even let you move your arm. You’re luckier than poor Tom Higbee, who won’t be able to set his leg to the floor for three weeks to come. I haven’t got all the buckshot out of it yet that Jack Dumont put there the other night.”

Courtland started slightly. Jack Dumont! That was the name of Sally Dows cousin of whom Champney had spoken! He had resolutely put aside from his returning memory the hazy recollection of the young girl’s voice–the last thing he had heard that night–and the mystery that seemed to surround it. But there was no delusion in this cousin–his rival, and that of the equally deceived Champney. He controlled himself and repeated coldly:–

“Jack Dumont!”

“Yes. But of course you knew nothing of all that, while you were off in the swamp there. Yet, by Jingo! it was Dumont’s shooting Higbee that helped YOU to get off your nigger a darned sight more than YOUR killing the dogs.”

“I don’t understand,” returned Courtland coldly.

“Well, you see, Dumont, who had taken up No’th’n principles, I reckon, more to goad the Higbees and please Sally Dows than from any conviction, came over here that night. Whether he suspected anything was up, or wanted to dare Higbee for bedevilment, or was only dancing attendance on Miss Sally, no one knows. But he rode slap into Highee’s party, called out, ‘If you’re out hunting, Tom, here’s a chance for your score!’ meaning their old vendetta feud, and brings his shot-gun up to his shoulder. Higbee wasn’t quick enough, Dumont lets fly, drops Higbee, and then gallops off chased by the Reeds to avenge Higbee, and followed by the whole crowd to see the fun, which was a little better than nigger-driving. And that let you and Cato out, colonel.”

“And Dumont?”

“Got clean away to Foxboro’ Station, leaving another score on his side for the Reeds and Higbees to wipe out as best they can. You No’th’n men don’t believe in these sort of things, colonel, but taken as a straight dash and hit o’ raiding, that stroke of Sally Dows’ cousin was mighty fine!”

Courtland controlled himself with difficulty. The doctor had spoken truly. The hero of this miserable affair was HER cousin–HIS RIVAL! And to him–perhaps influenced by some pitying appeal of Miss Sally for the man she had deceived–Courtland owed his life! He instinctively drew a quick, sharp breath.

“Are you in pain?”

“Not at all. When can I get up?”

“Perhaps to-morrow.”

“And this arm?”

“Better not use it for a week or two.” He stopped, and, glancing paternally at the younger man, added gravely but kindly: “If you’ll take my unprofessional advice, Colonel Courtland, you’ll let this matter simmer down. It won’t hurt you and your affairs here that folks have had a taste of your quality, and the nigger a lesson that his fellows won’t forget.”

“I thank you,” returned Courtland coldly; “but I think I already understand my duty to the company I represent and the Government I have served.”

“Possibly, colonel,” said the doctor quietly; “but you’ll let an older man remind you and the Government that you can’t change the habits or relations of two distinct races in a few years. Your friend, Miss Sally Dows–although not quite in my way of thinking–has never attempted THAT.”

“I am fully aware that Miss Dows possesses diplomatic accomplishments and graces that I cannot lay claim to,” returned Courtland bitterly.

The doctor lifted his eyebrows slightly and changed the subject.

When he had gone, Courtland called for writing materials. He had already made up his mind, and one course alone seemed proper to him. He wrote to the president of the company, detailing the circumstances that had just occurred, admitting the alleged provocation given by his overseer, but pointing out the terrorism of a mob-law which rendered his own discipline impossible. He asked that the matter be reported to Washington, and some measures taken for the protection of the freedmen, in the mean time he begged to tender his own resignation, but he would stay until his successor was appointed, or the safety of his employees secured. Until then, he should act upon his own responsibility and according to his judgment. He made no personal charges, mentioned no names, asked for no exemplary prosecution or trial of the offenders, but only demanded a safeguard against a repetition of the offense. His next letter, although less formal and official, was more difficult. It was addressed to the commandant of the nearest Federal barracks, who was an old friend and former companion-in-arms. He alluded to some conversation they had previously exchanged in regard to the presence of a small detachment of troops at Redlands during the elections, which Courtland at the time, however, had diplomatically opposed. He suggested it now as a matter of public expediency and prevention. When he had sealed the letters, not caring to expose them to the espionage of the local postmaster or his ordinary servants, he intrusted them to one of Miss Sally’s own henchmen, to be posted at the next office, at Bitter Creek Station, ten miles distant.