"You swear you won't do it? Do you swear?"
"Listen a moment," Weddel said; he spoke now with a sort of soothing patience, as though he spoke one-syllable words to a child: "I just want to go home. That's all. I have been away from home for four years. All I want is to go home. don't you see? I want to see what I have left there, after four years."
"What do you do there?" The boy's hands were loose and hard about Weddel's throat, his arms still, rigid. "Do you hunt all day, and all night too if you want, with a horse to ride and nigras to wait on you, to shine your boots and saddle the horse, and you setting on the gallery, eating, until time to go hunting again?"
"I hope so. I haven't been home in four years, you see. So I don't know any more."
"Take me with you."
"I don't know what's there, you see. There may not be anything there: no horses to ride and nothing to hunt. The Yankees were there, and my mother died right afterward, and I don't know what we would find there, until I can go and see."
"I'll work. We'll both work. You can get married in Mayesfield. It's not far."
"Married? Oh. Your... I see. How do you know I am not already married?" Now the boy's hands shut on his throat, shaking him. "Stop it!" he said.
"If you say you have got a wife, I will kill you," the boy said.
"No," Weddel said. "I am not married."
"And you don't aim to climb up that foot ladder?"
"No. I never saw her but once. I might not even know her if I saw her again."
"She says different. I don't believe you. You are lying."
"No," Weddel said.
"Is it because you are afraid to?"
"Yes. That's it."
"Of Vatch?"
"Not Vatch. I'm just afraid. I think my luck has given out. I know that it has lasted too long; I am afraid that I shall find that I have forgot how to be afraid. So I can't risk it. I can't risk finding that I have lost touch with truth. Not like Jubal here. He believes that I still belong to him; he will not believe that I have been freed. He won't even let me tell him so. He does not need to bother about truth, you see."
"We would work. She might not look like the Miss'ippi women that wear shoes all the time. But we would learn. We would not shame you before them."
"No," Weddel said. "I cannot."
"Then you go away. Now."
"How can I? You see that he cannot ride, cannot stay on a horse." The boy did not answer at once; an instant later Weddel could almost feel the tenseness, the utter immobility though he himself had heard no sound; he knew that the boy, crouching, not breathing, was looking toward the ladder.
"Which one is it?" Weddel whispered.
"It's paw."
"I'll go down. You stay here. You keep my pistol for me."
X
THE DARK AIR was high, chill, cold. In the vast invisible darkness the valley lay, the opposite cold and invisible range black on the black sky. Clutching the stub of his missing arm across his chest, he shivered slowly and steadily.
"Go," the father said.
"The war is over," Weddel said. "Vatch's victory is not my trouble."
"Take your horses and nigra, and ride on."
"If you mean your daughter, I never saw her but once and I never expect to see her again."
"Ride on," the father said. "Take what is yours, and ride on."
"I cannot." They faced one another in the darkness. "After four years I have bought immunity from running."
"You have till daylight."
"I have had less than that in Virginia for four years. And this is just Tennessee." But the other had turned; he dissolved into the black slope. Weddel entered the stable and mounted the ladder. Motionless above the snoring Negro the boy squatted.
"Leave him here," the boy said. "He ain't nothing but a nigra. Leave him, and go."
"No," Weddel said.
The boy squatted above the snoring Negro. He was not looking at Weddel, yet there was between them, quiet and soundless, the copse, the sharp dry report, the abrupt wild thunder of upreared horse, the wisping smoke. "I can show you a short cut down to the valley. You will be out of the mountains in two hours. By daybreak you will be ten miles away."
"I can't. He wants to go home too. I must get him home too." He stooped; with his single hand he spread the cloak awkwardly, covering the Negro closer with it. He heard the boy creep away, but he did not look. After a while he shook the Negro. "Jubal," he said. The Negro groaned; he turned heavily, sleeping again. Weddel squatted above him as the boy had done. "I thought that I had lost it for good," he said.
" The peace and the quiet; the power to be afraid again."
XI
THE CABIN was gaunt and bleak in the thick cold dawn when the two horses passed out the sagging gate and into the churned road, the Negro on the Thoroughbred, Weddel on the sorrel. The Negro was shivering. He sat hunched and high, with updrawn knees, his face almost invisible in the oilcloth hood.
"I tole you dey wuz fixing to pizen us wid dat stuff," he said. "I tole you. Hillbilly rednecks. En you not only let um pizen me, you fotch me de pizen wid yo own hand. O Lawd, O Lawd! If we ever does git home."
Weddel looked back at the cabin, at the weathered, blank house where there was no sign of any life, not even smoke.
"She has a young man, I suppose a beau." He spoke aloud, musing, quizzical. "And that boy. Hule. He said to come within sight of a laurel copse where the road disappears, and take a path to the left. He said we must not pass that copse."
"Who says which?" the Negro said. "I ain't going nowhere. I going back to dat loft en lay down."
"All right," Weddel said. "Get down."
"Git down?"
"I'll need both horses. You can walk on when you are through sleeping."
"I gwy tell yo maw," the Negro said. "I gwy tell um. Gwy tell how after four years you ain't got no more sense than to not know a Yankee when you seed um. To stay de night wid Yankees en let um pizen one of Mistis' niggers. I gwy tell um."
"I thought you were going to stay here," Weddel said. He was shivering too. "Yet I am not cold," he said. "I am not cold."
"Stay here? Me? How in de world you ever git home widout me? Whut I tell Mistis when I come in widout you en she ax me whar you is?"
"Come," Weddel said. He lifted the sorrel into motion.
He looked quietly back at the house, then rode on. Behind him on the Thoroughbred the Negro muttered and mumbled to himself in woebegone singsong. The road, the long hill which yesterday they had toiled up, descended now. It was muddy, rock-churned, scarred across the barren and rocky land beneath the dissolving sky, jolting downward to where the pines and laurel began. After a while the cabin had disappeared.
"And so I am running away," Weddel said. "When I get home I shall not be very proud of this. Yes, I will. It means that I am still alive. Still alive, since I still know fear and desire. Since life is an affirmation of the past and a promise to the future. So I am still alive. Ah." It was the laurel copse.