Stringtown on the Pike

A Novel by John Uri Lloyd

Chapter Seventeen

?TOO SLOW FO? A COON AN? TOO FAST FO? A POSSUM?

A Curious spectacle was that of Mr. Wagner, who, after his interview with the judge, made repeated journeys to the prisoner in the Stringtown county jail. Astride of a mule, his long legs nearly dragging the earth, the man of music as well as letters patiently rode back and forth. The order of the judge gave him immediate access to the cell of Cupe, and his visits were invariably of extraordinary length. Not a little curiosity was excited in the mind of the jailer, who, however, recognizing that the order of the judge relieved him from all responsibility, gave himself no personal concern. The tongues of the village gossips naturally were not less active than were their minds; and every morsel of evidence, imaginary or otherwise, concerning Cupe and his secret was chewed threadbare. The case became renowned. A score of ?killings? could not have excited the interest which this mystery raised. Cupe was the subject of general comment and speculation, and could he have known the remarks that were made about him he would?providing he was as vain and fond of notoriety as at that time were most of his race?have been a happy ?nigger.? Of these remarks, however, he rested in ignorance, occupying his time as best he could between the interviews to which he was subjected by his attorney and the visits of his friend, the Stringtown clerk.

While it is true that his counsel had been appointed to defend him, it was no less true that this same attorney was deeply interested in uncovering the hidden gold. The lawyer?s personal fees would unquestionably be greater if he could be the means of discovering the money, and his professional reputation would also be increased. So, at last, after all attempts to induce the accused to unbosom himself had failed, he decided that he would search the garments of the negro for evidence of some description, for, possibly, Cupe had something secreted about his person that might shed light upon the subject. The jailer, on being questioned, said that the only search, so far, had been of the pockets of the old slave, and nothing was found therein save a knife and some unimportant trinkets. ?I shall bring a change of garments for the old fool,? said the lawyer, ?and have the patches of the ragged ones ripped apart.?

That afternoon Cupe heard a gentle rap on his door; a key was awkwardly thrust into the lock and hesitatingly turned. The door swung back, and in the doorway stood the youngest child of the jailer, a little boy of eight. ?Uncle Cupe,? said the child, ?the front door downstairs is unlocked, and you can go home.? The old darkey patted the urchin?s head.

?De sunlight am monstrous sweet, honey, but de shade am s?lubrous, chile. Who tole yo? t? open de doah fo? Cupe??

?I jest heard pap and the lawyer talk and say that this would be the last day you would be here, and I thought I would let you out.?

?Yo? did, child, yo? did! an? so it am t? be de las? day! Go back, honey, an? doan yo? nebbah open no uddah jail doahs; keep yoah han? off de key.?

?You are goin? to have a new suit of clothes, Uncle Cupe.?

?Who tole yo? so, chile? Cupe doan wan? no new clo?s.?

?Mr. Putter will bring them to-day, and take away your old patches.?

?Take de key out ob dat doah, chile, an? hang et back on de hook yo? took it from an? doan yo? say nuffin t? nobody ?bout tryin? t? let Cupe out ob de jail, ?case yoah pap won?t like t? hab yo? tole it. Shet de doah, honey, Cupe am bery comfor?ble heah, fo? de shade am good fo? de ?plexion.? The negro again patted the head of the innocent little one and gently closed the door. The key was turned, withdrawn, and silence reigned again in the cell of Cupe, who stood for a time meditatively.

?An? so dey gwine t? take ?way de ole clo?s, an? fo? what? Dah ain?t no use in runnin? no risk, Cupe; bettah yo? fix de mattah now.?

Stepping to the grated window, he cast a glance across the street. ?Yo? am in yoah place, Dgawge Wash?n?t?n; am yo? ready fo? yoah duty?? The dog raised his head, stood upright and cast a joyful glance at his master. ?Stan? still till I tole yo? t? come, Dgawge?stan? still.?

Grasping the knee of one leg of his trousers with his hand, old Cupe gave a bright yellow patch a jerk that tore it from the brown garment beneath, which, strangely enough, proved to be perfectly sound. Then he opened a slit in one edge of the patch and removed from it a tiny iron key. ?Yo? is safe now, but yo? will be safah wid Dinah,? said he; then he replaced the key in the fragment of cloth and rolling it compactly, tied the package firmly with a string that was drawn from beneath another patch. Stepping to the barred window again, Cupe spoke to the dog, who, expectant, stood in the position he had assumed upon first hearing the voice of his master.

?Come heah, Dgawge,? said Cupe; ?yo? hab work t? do now; come heah, yo? houn?.? The dog advanced slowly, until he stood with upturned face beneath the little window. ?Yo? see dis heah jew?l?? said Cupe, holding the roll beneath the bars; the dog gave a low whine. ?Yo? am t? carry it homne, Dgawge. Go home wid it!? commanded Cupe emphatically. He flipped the parcel into the air, and it fell into the open mouth of the faithful friend. ?Go home t? Dinah!? commanded his master again; and instantly the brute turned about, gave a leap that carried him to the opposite fence, the next carried him over the fence, and then he vanished in the weeds in the direction of Stringtown.

As the dog disappeared the negro turned his gaze diagonally through the grating, and caught sight of the attorney, who had just rounded the corner of the blind street. He was advancing toward the jail, and beneath his arm carried a ?store? wrapped package.

?Yo? kin com in ef yo? wants t?, Mr. Lawyah,? chuckled the negro; ?de front doah am unlocked, an? yo? need n?t knock. Yo? am welcome t? give Cupe a new suit ob clo?s now. Ya, ya,? he chuckled, ?yo? am a smaht man, Mr. Lawyah, but some smaht men am like some dawgs, an? caint cotch nuffin. Dey am too slow fo? a coon an? too fas? fo? a ?possum.?


Typed by Sharon Franklin, M. L. S., Boone County Public Library; Manager, Walton Branch

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