Lewis Rand | Page 6

moreover, Rand and Gaudylock
were not entirely unknown. The giant figure of the one had been seen
before upon that road; the other was recognized as a very able scout,
hunter, and Indian trader, restless as quicksilver and daring beyond all
reason. Men hailed the two cheerily, and asked for the news from
Albemarle, and from Kentucky and the Mississippi.
"Mr. Jefferson is coming home," answered Rand; and "Spain is not so
black as she is painted," said the trader.
"We hear," quoth the gentleman addressed, "that the Kentuckians make
good Spanish subjects."
"Then you hear a damned lie," said Gaudylock imperturbably. "The
boot's on the other foot. Ten years from now a Kentuckian may rule in
New Orleans."
The gentleman laughed, settled back in his stick-chair, and spoke to his
horse. "Mr. Jefferson is in Richmond," he remarked to Rand, and
vanished in a cloud of dust.
The tobacco-cask and its guardians kept on by wood and stream,
plantation, tavern, forge, and mill, now with companions and now upon
a lonely road. At last, when the frogs were at vespers, and the wind had
died into an evening stillness, and the last rays of the sun were staining
the autumn foliage a yet deeper red, they came by way of Broad Street
into Richmond. The cask of bright leaf must be deposited at Shockoe
Warehouse; this they did, then as the stars were coming out, they
betook themselves to where, at the foot of Church Hill, the Bird in
Hand dispensed refreshment to man and beast.

CHAPTER II
MR. JEFFERSON
By ten of the Capitol clock Gideon Rand had sold his tobacco and
deposited the price in a well-filled wallet. "Eighteen shillings the
hundred," he said, with grim satisfaction. "And the casks I sent by
Mocket sold as well! Good leaf, good leaf! Tobacco pays, and learning
don't. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Lewis Rand!"
Father and son came out from the cool, dark store, upon the unpaved
street, and joined Adam Gaudylock where he lounged beneath a
sycamore. Up and down the street were wooden houses, shops of
British merchants, prosperous taverns, and dwelling-houses sunk in
shady gardens. An arrow-flight away brawled the river among bright
islands. The sky above the bronze sycamores was very blue, the air
crystal, the sunshine heavenly mild. The street was not crowded. A
Quaker in a broad-brimmed hat went by, and then a pretty girl, and then
a minister talking broad Scotch, and then a future chief justice who had
been to market and had a green basket upon his arm. Gideon drew
another breath of satisfaction. "I've been thinking this long time of
buying a negro, and now I can do it! Mocket says there's a likely man
for sale down by the market. Lewis, you go straight to Mocket now,
and tell him I'll wait for him there! Are you coming with me, Adam
Gaudylock?"
"Why," said Gaudylock, with candour, "I have business presently in
Governor Street, and a man to meet at the Indian Queen. And I think I'll
go now with Lewis. Somehow, the woods have spoiled me for seeing
men bought and sold."
"They're black men," said Rand indifferently. "I'll see you, then, at
dinner-time, at the Bird in Hand. I'm going home to-morrow.--Lewis, if
you want to, you can look around this morning with Tom Mocket!" He
glanced at his son's flushing face, and, being in high good humour,
determined to give the colt a little rein. "Be off, and spend your dollar!
See what sights you can, for we'll not be in Richmond again for many a

day! They say there's a brig in from Barbadoes."
He put up his wallet, and with a nod to Gaudylock strode away in the
direction of the market, but presently halted and turned his head.
"Lewis!"
"Yes, father."
"Don't you be buying any more books! You hear me?"
He swung away, and his son stood under the sycamore tree and looked
after him with a darkened face. Gaudylock put a hand upon his
shoulder. "Never mind, Lewis! Before we part I'm going to talk to
Gideon." He laughed. "Do you know what the Cherokees call me?
They call me Golden-Tongue. Because, you see, I can persuade them to
'most anything,--always into the war-path, and sometimes out of it!
Gideon may be obstinate, but he can't be as obstinate as an Indian. Now
let's go to Mocket's."
The way to Mocket's lay down a steep hillside, and along the
river-bank, under a drift of coloured leaves, and by the sound of falling
water. Mocket dwelt in a small house, in a small green yard with a
broken gate. A red creeper mantled the tiny porch, and lilac bushes,
clucked under by a dozen hens, hedged the grassy yard.