Love stories; Reconstruction (U.S. history, 1865-1877) -- Fiction; Southern States -- History -- 1865-1877 -- Fiction
"Why did you not make him pay you yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" said Hank, starting to his feet. "He ain't got back, has
he? If he's lied to me again, I'll----Say, _is_ he back?" he asked,
eagerly.
"I have not seen him yet," answered Harrod, "and I do not wish to see
him. I want you to warn him never to show his face among us again. Now,
supposing you are released to-night, how soon can you find him?"
"_Find_ him? The young whelp! He's tricked me. He's gone to Mexico, d--n
him! I came here two days ago to meet him as agreed. He was to pay me
the money then, and said you was here to get it for him; and then, when
I got here, he left word that he was in a scrape, and had to light out
for Texas right away, and never said another word about the money,
except that I might apply to him there for it ('him there' being the
bedraggled-looking youth sitting up now on his wooden bench and staring
stupidly about him), and--and this is what came of it, by God! The
money's mine, colonel, and I earned it fairly that last scrape he was
in. He swore he'd pay me if we'd help him out. They'd have jailed him
sure at Holly Springs if we hadn't stood by him. It took some of the
hardest swearing you ever listened to to turn that marshal off his
track." And Hank's face was woe-begone as this touching reminiscence
occurred to him.
"And that was the service your people rendered him, was it? You could
have rendered his people a much better one by telling the truth and
'jailing him,' as you say. What had he been doing to set the marshal on
his track?"
Hank looked suspiciously at me a moment. He was apparently ready to
make a clean breast of matters to Harrod, but I was one of a class he
regarded with distrust. Seeing this, Harrod glanced significantly at me,
and I withdrew, leaving them to work out their own conclusions.
Strolling up to headquarters and thence over to Amory's, I found him
sleeping quietly and Parker reading the newspapers at his bedside. An
enlivening conversation was not to be looked for in that quarter
therefore, and on my speaking to Parker about a room for Mrs. Amory, who
was to arrive on the following day, he replied that he had already
secured one close at hand. This again left me with nothing especial to
do, and in my loneliness and lack of occupation I went down to Royal
Street, and came luckily upon a cheerful gathering at Newhall's, as we
had learned to speak of the house wherein our Sandbrook party were
quartered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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