The Four Pools Mystery | Page 6

the man was close behind, and the feeling that his
eyes were boring into the middle of my back was far from pleasant. But
after he had deposited his load on the floor of my room, and, with a
sidewise glance which seemed to take in everything without looking
directly at anything, had shambled off again, I turned to Rad.
"What's the matter with him?" I demanded.
Radnor threw back his head and laughed.
"You look as if you'd seen the ha'nt! There's nothing to be afraid of. He
doesn't bite. The poor fellow's half witted--at least in some respects; in
others he's doubly witted."
"Who is he?" I persisted. "Where did he come from?"
"Oh, he's lived here all his life--raised on the place. We're as fond of
Mose as if he were a member of the family. He's my father's body
servant and he follows him around like a dog. We don't keep him
dressed for the part because shoes and stockings make him unhappy."
"But his eyes," I said. "What the deuce is the matter with his eyes?"
Radnor shrugged his shoulders.
"Born that way. His eyes are a little queer, but if you've ever noticed it,
niggers' eyes are often yellow. The people on the place call him
'Cat-Eye Mose.' You needn't be afraid of him," he added with another

laugh, "he's harmless."
CHAPTER III
I MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF THE HA'NT
We had a sensation at supper that night, and I commenced to realize
that I was a good many miles from New York. In response to the
invitation of Solomon, the old negro butler, we seated ourselves at the
table and commenced on the cold dishes before us, while he withdrew
to bring in the hot things from the kitchen. As is often the case in
Southern plantation houses the kitchen was under a separate roof from
the main house, and connected with it by a long open gallery. We
waited some time but no supper arrived. The Colonel, becoming
impatient, was on the point of going to look for it, when the door burst
open and Solomon appeared empty-handed, every hair on his woolly
head pointing a different direction.
"De ha'nt, Marse Cunnel, de ha'nt! He's sperrited off de chicken. Right
outen de oven from under Nancy's eyes."
"Solomon," said the Colonel severely, "what are you trying to say?
Talk sense."
"Sho's yuh bohn, Marse Cunnel; it's de libbin' truf I's tellin' yuh. Dat
ha'nt has fotched dat chicken right outen de oven, an' it's vanished in de
air."
"You go out and bring that chicken in and don't let me hear another
word."
"I cayn't, Marse Cunnel, 'deed I cayn't. Dere ain't no chicken dere."
"Very well, then! Go and get us some ham and eggs and stop this fuss."
Solomon withdrew and we three looked at each other.
"Rad, what's the meaning of this?" the Colonel demanded querulously.

"Some foolishness on the part of the niggers. I'll look into it after
supper. When the ha'nt begins abstracting chickens from the oven I
think it's time to investigate."
Being naturally curious over the matter, I commenced asking questions
about the history and prior appearances of the ha'nt. Radnor answered
readily enough, but I noticed that the Colonel appeared restless under
the inquiry, and the amused suspicion crossed my mind that he did not
entirely discredit the story. When a man has been born and brought up
among negroes he comes, in spite of himself, to be tinged with their
ideas.
Supper finished, the three of us turned down the gallery toward the
kitchen. As we approached the door we heard a murmur of voices, one
rising every now and then in a shrill wail which furnished a sort of
chorus. Radnor whispered in my ear that he reckoned Nancy had "got
um" again. Though I did not comprehend at the moment, I
subsequently learned that "um" referred to a sort of emotional ecstasy
into which Nancy occasionally worked herself, the motive power being
indifferently ghosts or religion.
The kitchen was a large square room, with brick floor, rough shack
walls and smoky rafters overhead from which pended strings of garlic,
red peppers and herbs. The light was supplied ostensibly by two tallow
dips, but in reality by the glowing wood embers of the great open stove
bricked into one side of the wall.
Five or six excited negroes were grouped in a circle about a woman
with a yellow turban on her head, who was rocking back and forth and
shouting at intervals:
"Oh-h, dere's sperrits in de air! I can smell um. I can smell um."
"Nancy!" called the Colonel sharply as we stepped into the room.
Nancy paused a moment and turned upon us a pair of frenzied eyes
with nothing much