Viola Gwyn | Page 8

hens perched stiffly, watchfully on the
sides of a clumsy wagon-bed over against the barn. Martins and
chimney-swallows darted above the cabin and out-buildings, swirling
in mad circles, dipping and careening with incredible swiftness.
The gaunt settler conducted the unexpected guests to the barn, where,
after they had dismounted, he assisted in the removal of the well-filled
saddle-bags and rolls from the backs of their jaded horses.
"Water?" he inquired briefly.
"No, suh," replied Zachariah, blinking as the other held the lantern up

the better to look into his face. Zachariah was a young negro,--as black
as night, with gleaming white teeth which he revealed in a broad and
friendly grin. "Had all dey could drink, Marster, back yander at de
crick."
"You couldn't have forded the Wea this time last week," said the host,
addressing Gwynne. "She's gone down considerable the last four-five
days. Out of the banks last week an' runnin' all over creation."
"Still pretty high," remarked the other. "Came near to sweeping Zack's
mare downstream but--well, she made it and Zack has turned black
again."
The settler raised his lantern again at the stable door and looked
dubiously at the negro.
"You're from Kentucky, Mr. Gwynne," he said, frowning. "I got to tell
you right here an' now that if this here boy is a slave, you can't stop
here,--an' what's more, you can't stay in this county. We settled the
slavery question in this state quite a spell back, an' we make it purty hot
for people who try to smuggle niggers across the border. I got to ask
you plain an' straight; is this boy a slave?"
"He is not," replied Gwynne. "He is a free man. If he elects to leave my
service to-morrow, he is at liberty to go. My grandfather freed all of his
slaves shortly before he died, and that was when Zachariah here was
not more than fifteen years of age. He is as free as I am,--or you, sir. He
is my servant, not my slave. I know the laws of this state, and I intend
to abide by them. I expect to make my home here in Indiana,--in
Lafayette, as a matter of fact. This boy's name is Zachariah Button. Ten
years ago he was a slave. He has with him, sir, the proper credentials to
support my statement,--and his, if he chooses to make one. On at least a
dozen occasions, first in Ohio and then in Indiana, I have been obliged
to convince official and unofficial inquirers that my--"
"That's all right, Mr. Gwynne," cried the settler heartily. "I take your
word for it. If you say he's not a slave, why, he ain't, so that's the end of
it. And it ain't necessary for Zachariah to swear to it, neither. We can't

offer you much in the way of entertainment, Mr. Gwynne, but what
we've got you're welcome to. I came to this country from Ohio seven
years ago, an' I learned a whole lot about hospitality durin' the journey.
I learned how to treat a stranger in a strange land fer one thing, an' I
learned that even a hoss-thief ain't an ongrateful cuss if you give him a
night's lodgin' and a meal or two."
"I shall be greatly indebted to you, sir. The time will surely come when
I may repay you,--not in money, but in friendship. Pray do not let us
discommode you or your household. I will be satisfied to sleep on the
floor or in the barn, and as for Zachariah, he--"
"The barn is for the hosses to sleep in," interrupted the host, "and the
floor is for the cat. 'Tain't my idee of fairness to allow human bein's to
squat on proppety that rightfully belongs to hosses an' cats,--so I guess
you'll have to sleep in a bed, Mr. Gwynne." He spoke with a drawl.
"Zachariah c'n spread his blankets on the kitchen floor an' make out
somehow. Now, if you'll jist step over to the well yander, you'll find a
wash pan. Eliza,--I mean Mrs. Striker,--will give you a towel when
you're ready. Jest sing out to her. Here, you, Zachariah, carry this
plunder over an' put it in the kitchen. Mrs. Striker will show you. Be
careful of them rifles of your'n. They go off mighty sudden if you stub
your toe. You'll find a comb and lookin' glass in the settin' room, Mr.
Gwynne. You'll probably want to put a few extry touches on yourself
when I tell you there's an all-fired purty girl spendin' the night with us.
Go along, now. I'll put the feed down fer your hosses an' be with you in
less'n no time."
"You are very kind, Mr.--Did you say Striker?"
"Phineas Striker, sir,--Phin fer short."
"I am prepared and