“Well, Bill,” continued Pollock, “the first thing to be done is to put Montfort out of the way; then it will be plain sailing. The next question is: Who will do that job?”
“Reckon I know jes’ the man—a man o’ the right sperrit, who’ll be glad to serve his country fer a reasun’ble consideration. An’ thet remin’s me, how much o’ the property is to be resarved fer you?”
“The boys may have what they can get of it; I don’t care for any part of the spoils; all I want is the mother and the children.”
“Jes’ so; wall, now, seein’s I understan’ the case jes’ as you want it, I’ll lay low, set the boys on; you keep shady an’ stan’ ready the minute the mine’s fired. I ain’t got a cuss agin Montfort myself, but the institootion must be respected. Sure thar’s plenty o’ whiskey an’ stuff in the cellur? ’Twould look kin’ o’ mean in Montfort not to have a full cellur. It’s a big job, an’ the boys’ll be thirsty.” With this, the two worthies arose from their seats and sauntered through the door and up to the bar.
A day or two after the foregoing, Hank Davis, true to his word, formally applied to Mr. Montfort for the position of overseer on his plantation.
“What made you think that I wanted an overseer?” asked Montfort, as he pushed his hat off his face a little farther and eyed the petitioner critically, mentally vowing that he would never place even a horse in the power of such an ill-favored, beastly looking fellow.
“Wall, most Southern gentlemen don’t keer ter have a nigger overseer. It spiles ’em; they gives themselves airs, an’ git sot up in thar idees. Thought mabby you, bein’ a stranger, mightn’t know our ways. You see, it’s jes’ hyar, we have certain rules in this commoonity that we all mus’ ’bide by ef we want t’void trouble.” As Hank ventured this last remark in a cautious manner, he scraped the gravel of the walk with one foot while he slyly noted the reception of his venture by an upward cast of his eye.
Charles Montfort looked at him a moment with a slumbering wrath before he asked with dangerous coolness: “What do I understand by what you have just said, Mr. Davis? Do you mean to insinuate that a man cannot do as he will with his own property?”
“Wall, no; not eggsactly; but it’s jes’ hyar, to speak plainly as ’tween fren’s,” replied Hank, as he shifted his tobacco to the other side of his mouth, “the plain fac’ is: I want the job of drivin’ yer niggers, an’ you’ll want me to keep the commoonity fren’ly to yer now it’s got out thet yer a-gwine ter set the gang free byme by.”
Charles Montfort possessed one characteristic of the West Indian to a marked degree, and that was a bad temper under just provocation. Without more ado he seized the offending Hank by the collar, and with his riding whip, which he carried in his hand, he administered a sound flogging to the offender. As he released him, he said: “When you leave my grounds, don’t you ever set your foot inside the gates again, or it will be the worse for you.”
Hank said nothing as he raised himself from the ground where the irate man had thrown him, but as he turned to leave the place he looked at Mr. Montfort; and even in his wrath at the insolence of such a mongrel cur, as he mentally styled Davis, Charles Montfort felt a shudder of real physical fear pass over him for a moment. Surprised at himself, he turned to enter the house, dismissing the whole incident as a piece of impudence which he had done well to chastise.
Taking it all in all, Mr. Montfort was not feeling very happy on this June morning, as he sat upon the piazza thinking over the late encounter. An hour passed swiftly away; still the master of the house continued his meditations; but now he had changed his seat for a thoughtful promenade up and down the broad piazza. Finally he said softly to himself: “Yes, that is just what I will do; I’ll send Gracie and the little fellows home for awhile on a visit, and there they shall stay until I know just what the trouble is here about the slaves, and certain insinuations concerning my family are cleared up.” When a man makes up his mind that he has solved a difficult problem that has worried him, he generally has an air of relief which is the more pathetic, that in nine cases out of ten he does not believe that his remedy will prove effective, although he fancies that he so believes.
When Hank Davis left Mr. Montfort he moved slowly down the sunbaked road, nursing his wrath and swearing vengeance. Nothing but the life of the man who had inflicted such an insult upon him could wipe it out. He had received the same treatment that he had given hundreds of his associates, until his name and presence had become a terror in the county where he resided. Hitherto he had given his orders and they had been obeyed; but here was a man, a comparative stranger, for whom he considered that he had been willing to do a great kindness, for a consideration, and not only had he met with a refusal of his request but at the same time had received personal violence of a character that was most galling to the spirit of any freeborn Southern man—an ordinary cowhiding, such as he would mete out to his slave. As he thought more and more about the matter he grew more and more filled with a desire for vengeance—not the ordinary kind, but something extraordinary. As he gradually turned over in his mind schemes for the
