Chocolate and bread, new butter and new
eggs, put me in a kinder humor. Cato, burrowing in my boxes, drew out a
soft, new suit of doeskin with new points, new girdle, and new
moccasins.
"Oh," said I, watching him, "am I to go forest-running to-day?"
"Mars' Varick gwine ride de boun's," he announced, cheerfully.
"Ride to hounds?" I repeated, astonished. "In May?"
"No, suh! Ride de boun's, suh."
"Oh, ride the boundaries?"
"Yaas, suh."
"Oh, very well. What time does he start?"
"'Bout noontide, suh."
The old man strove to straighten my short queue, but found it hopeless,
so tied it close and dusted on the French powder.
"Curly head, curly head," he muttered to himself. "Dess lak yo'
pap's!... an' Miss Dorry's. Law's sakes, dishyere hair wuf mo'n
eight dollar."
"You think my hair worth more than eight dollars?" I asked, amused.
"H'it sho'ly am, suh."
"But why eight dollars, Cato?"
"Das what the redcoats say; eight dollars fo' one rebel scalp, suh."
I sat up, horrified. "Who told you that?" I demanded.
"All de gemmen done say so--Mars' Varick, Mars' Johnsing, Cap'in
Butler."
"Bah! they said it to plague you, Cato," I muttered; but as I said it I
saw the old slave's eyes and knew that he had told the truth.
Sobered, I dressed me in my forest dress, absently lacing the
hunting-shirt and tying knee-points, while the old man polished hatchet
and knife and slipped them into the beaded scabbards swinging on
either hip.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130