Preacher."
"Hell, I don't even see why Eberly needed to hire you on in the first place. We coulda found them niggers our ownselves."
Cain told himself not to pay him any mind. The man was an ignorant fool and just itching for a fight. Wait till they were done. If he still wanted one, then he'd give it to him.
* * *
The next morning, the rain had stopped, though the sky had remained overcast and gray as a pair of old socks. They rode back to the village, and from the cover of the laurel, Cain watched as the men and a few of the women headed out of the village, carrying hoes and picks and spades, one of them driving a wagon pulled by a
pair of swaybacked mules. Cain took note of two men toting guns, a couple of old fowling pieces. Whether for hunting game or for protection, he couldn't rightly say, but the fact spoke to the need to be careful. Freed Negroes, or ones who had been on the run for a while, were much more dangerous. They'd had a taste of freedom and usually wouldn't give it up without putting up a fight, nor would they permit their fugitive comrades to be peacefully taken back either. Cain always tried to err on the side of caution, not to underestimate the desire in a Negro for this thing called freedom. He made it a point not to rush in, but to plan out carefully when and where he'd capture a fugitive slave.
The one time he'd had to kill a runaway was when he'd overlooked this principle. He was hunting for a runaway named Benjamin, who'd worked as a puddler for the Tredegar Iron Works in Richmond. Cain had finally located him in Pittsburgh. He was staying with a Negro family, in a neighborhood predominately made up of freedmen. He worked in a foundry, and Cain would watch him going back and forth to work, waiting to catch him when he was alone, in a place where the odds would be with Cain. Usually the Negro was with half a dozen fellow black ironworkers, big, burly men who would have put up a good fight.
Finally, though, Cain could wait no longer. He was running out of funds and he needed to capture the runaway and bring him back to Virginia to collect the reward. So he broke one of his own rules. He jumped the runaway coming out of a doggery with another Negro. Cain pulled his gun and informed Benjamin he had a warrant for his arrest as a fugitive slave. The other Negro started to yell at the top of his lungs, "Soul catcher! Help! Soul catcher!" Soon Negroes came running out from the tavern and surrounding dwellings, and the next thing Cain knew, there were a couple of dozen black faces surrounding him. Emboldened by their presence, Benjamin pulled a knife on Cain. "Get yo white buckra ass outa here." But Cain, for all his cautious nature, needed the money the Negro represented. Besides which, he didn't like leaving business unfinished, liked completing what he'd set out to do, nor did he like the image of being chased off by a Negro. So he told the runaway he was bringing him back one way or the other. That's when Benjamin rushed at him with the knife. Taken by surprise, Cain had little choice but to defend himself. He'd hoped only to wound him, because a dead runaway wasn't worth a plug nickel. But the bullet caught the Negro in the throat, and he dropped like a sack of wet grain.
With that, the others fell on Cain. Wildly swinging his blackjack with one hand and his Colt with the other, he fought his way out of the crowd and made for his horse, tied at the end of the alley. He managed to mount and ride away as they threw stones and curses at him. After that, he was always careful to pick the safest place and circumstances for a capture. Patience was something a slave catcher needed as much as shackles or a gun.
All that morning they watched the village, but they didn't spot the runaway named Henry among the men heading out to work the fields, nor the girl among the women who stayed behind and washed clothes and tended to the chickens.
"Think they're hidin' her?" Strofe asked Cain.
He shrugged as he
"Hell, I don't even see why Eberly needed to hire you on in the first place. We coulda found them niggers our ownselves."
Cain told himself not to pay him any mind. The man was an ignorant fool and just itching for a fight. Wait till they were done. If he still wanted one, then he'd give it to him.
* * *
The next morning, the rain had stopped, though the sky had remained overcast and gray as a pair of old socks. They rode back to the village, and from the cover of the laurel, Cain watched as the men and a few of the women headed out of the village, carrying hoes and picks and spades, one of them driving a wagon pulled by a
pair of swaybacked mules. Cain took note of two men toting guns, a couple of old fowling pieces. Whether for hunting game or for protection, he couldn't rightly say, but the fact spoke to the need to be careful. Freed Negroes, or ones who had been on the run for a while, were much more dangerous. They'd had a taste of freedom and usually wouldn't give it up without putting up a fight, nor would they permit their fugitive comrades to be peacefully taken back either. Cain always tried to err on the side of caution, not to underestimate the desire in a Negro for this thing called freedom. He made it a point not to rush in, but to plan out carefully when and where he'd capture a fugitive slave.
The one time he'd had to kill a runaway was when he'd overlooked this principle. He was hunting for a runaway named Benjamin, who'd worked as a puddler for the Tredegar Iron Works in Richmond. Cain had finally located him in Pittsburgh. He was staying with a Negro family, in a neighborhood predominately made up of freedmen. He worked in a foundry, and Cain would watch him going back and forth to work, waiting to catch him when he was alone, in a place where the odds would be with Cain. Usually the Negro was with half a dozen fellow black ironworkers, big, burly men who would have put up a good fight.
Finally, though, Cain could wait no longer. He was running out of funds and he needed to capture the runaway and bring him back to Virginia to collect the reward. So he broke one of his own rules. He jumped the runaway coming out of a doggery with another Negro. Cain pulled his gun and informed Benjamin he had a warrant for his arrest as a fugitive slave. The other Negro started to yell at the top of his lungs, "Soul catcher! Help! Soul catcher!" Soon Negroes came running out from the tavern and surrounding dwellings, and the next thing Cain knew, there were a couple of dozen black faces surrounding him. Emboldened by their presence, Benjamin pulled a knife on Cain. "Get yo white buckra ass outa here." But Cain, for all his cautious nature, needed the money the Negro represented. Besides which, he didn't like leaving business unfinished, liked completing what he'd set out to do, nor did he like the image of being chased off by a Negro. So he told the runaway he was bringing him back one way or the other. That's when Benjamin rushed at him with the knife. Taken by surprise, Cain had little choice but to defend himself. He'd hoped only to wound him, because a dead runaway wasn't worth a plug nickel. But the bullet caught the Negro in the throat, and he dropped like a sack of wet grain.
With that, the others fell on Cain. Wildly swinging his blackjack with one hand and his Colt with the other, he fought his way out of the crowd and made for his horse, tied at the end of the alley. He managed to mount and ride away as they threw stones and curses at him. After that, he was always careful to pick the safest place and circumstances for a capture. Patience was something a slave catcher needed as much as shackles or a gun.
All that morning they watched the village, but they didn't spot the runaway named Henry among the men heading out to work the fields, nor the girl among the women who stayed behind and washed clothes and tended to the chickens.
"Think they're hidin' her?" Strofe asked Cain.
He shrugged as he
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