Soul Catcher (47 page)

^{He tried running, but his side hurt too much, so he had to limit himself to an awkward, sideways half jog, half walk, like a crab at low tide. With each stride his head throbbed and the wound in his side contracted like a fist that slammed into his ribs and lungs, almost knocking the breath from him. He thought at any moment he would collapse, but he forced himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, trying to establish a rhythm that would take over and lead him on. He was sure the pain couldn't keep up this intensity, and if he could just wait it out he could beat it. But that strategy proved wrong, for the pain, if anything, became worse. Several times it doubled him over, and once he fell to his knees and retched up a yellowish bile. At least there was no blood in it, though, which he took as good news. The pain formed in his mind a kind of adversary, something animate and separate from himself, whose goal was not only Cain's death, but also his total surrender. And he'd decided that, though it might eventually kill him, he would not succumb to it. Several times he cursed it and called it names--son of a bitch, bloody bastard, whoreson knave, scoundrel, dog, swine, eater of rat excrement--feeling that, by personifying it, he could make it something manageable, something able to be defeated.}

^{As he moved along he began to work up a good sweat. He removed his coat and tied its arms around his waist. He shuffled along bare chested, the brisk morning air actually feeling good on his burning skin. After a few miles he stopped by a stream and drank some water and washed his face. The wound in his side had soaked through the paper, so he tore out another couple of pages of Milton and shoved them under the cord he had tied around himself. He then started off again, this time, he realized, moving slower. He knew it would be hard to cut their lead on foot no matter how fast he moved, but he figured this would have to do until he could come up with a better plan.}

^{He followed the trail through woods and thickets, over streams and low-lying fields, the smell of the ocean getting stronger as he went. It was little more than an old game trail or Indian path that the blackbirders were taking, and they probably knew it well from their trade. Still, they didn't appear to be in a hurry. The horses' hoofprints did not bite deeply into the ground, nor were the strides those of animals moving much faster than a walk. They were the tracks of men who had nothing to fear and who purposely took their time, as if on a Sunday jaunt. Cain pushed himself onward, figuring his chances of catching up to them were slim, but at least he would not give in to the pain.}

^{Around midmorning he found himself plaguey weak from hunger. As he passed an apple orchard, he went in and looked on the ground for last year's fallen fruit. He found a few brown, wormy apples that the deer had missed, and he tore voraciously into them. The soft meat exploded in his mouth into a watery paste but did little more than titillate his hunger. Down the road a piece, though, his spirits revived a little when he spotted some Guernsey cows grazing in a pasture. A quarter mile away was a farmer's house and barn, but he didn't see anyone about, so he climbed over the worm fence and cautiously approached several of the cows eating off by themselves.}

^{"Here, bos," he said, having grabbed a handful of grass and extending it in a kind of bovine greeting. "It's all right, bos."}

^{Yet as he got close, the animals spooked and took off, running in their clumsy sort of way across the pasture. He saw one, though, off by herself under an elm tree. She appeared big with calf. Cain slowly made his way over to her. When he reached her, he patted her flank and reassured her.}

^{"Nobody's going to hurt you, girl. Just want to borrow some of your milk."}

^{She turned her bulbous eyes to look at him, then went nonchalantly back to munching on the grass. He lay down between her legs, took hold of one of her teats, and pulled a squirt of milk into his mouth. The liquid was sweet and warm and life giving, and he didn't think he'd tasted anything so good in all his days. He hadn't quite quenched his fill, though, when he heard a voice calling out. Sitting up, he saw a man up near the barn, holding what appeared to be a hoe. The farmer was running at him full tilt. Cain decided against waiting and trying to explain his situation to the man. Instead, he thanked the cow and took to his heels. He cut across the road and disappeared into some woods. Soon, the farmer gave up.}

^{Cain cut back onto the path a half mile away. After walking for an hour, he came at last to an actual road. Here the four riders had turned to the north along it. Cain followed them. The wound in his side had begun to bleed and throb again, and he was forced to stop and tend to it. Although his forehead felt hot, he found himself shivering, so he put his coat back on. While he was seated there at the side of the road, an older couple approached in a buckboard wagon filled with supplies, and when they saw him, they stopped. The man had a long gray beard and the black garb customary of Quakers, and the woman wore a poke bonnet. He was thin and gristly while the wife was plump as a pullet. Cain asked them if this was the road to Baltimore, and they said it was. Then he asked if three men and a Negro woman had passed them. They said they had not seen anybody fitting that description.}

^{"Why, you are hurt, sir," said the man.}

^{"I'm all right," Cain replied.}

^{The husband got down to see if he could help Cain. He was frail- looking and walked with a decided stoop.}

^{"I think not," the man said. "Can you stand?"}

^"Yes."

^{"Why don't you get on the back of our wagon and we'll take you to have your wounds attended to."}

^{"Dr. Caulkins is just a few miles distant," interjected the woman from the wagon.}

^{"I can't stop," Cain said. "You wouldn't happen to have any cloth you could spare, would you, ma'am? My dressing needs changing."}

^{The woman got down from the buggy and waddled over to where Cain sat. She bent down and took a portion of her petticoat and tore it off. She had her husband get a canteen of water from the wagon. She poured water on the cloth and set about cleaning his wounds. First the one on his head and then the one in his side. Up close he saw that she had grayish eyes, the color of morning fog in the mountains.}

^{"The wound to your head doesn't appear grave," she explained. "But the other one is in need of doctoring. It may be infected." Placing a hand to his forehead, she added, "Goodness sakes, you are burning up, young man."}

^{"Let us take you to the doctor," the husband insisted.}

^{"Thank you, but I have to be moving on."}

^{"But you are sick," said the woman.}

^{"I'm well enough."}

^{"You are either running from something that frightens you or toward something that beckons," the woman said.}

^{"Some of both, I suppose."}

^{"Are you sure you are strong enough to travel?"}

^{"I don't know. Thing is, I need to try. Would you have any whiskey, ma'am?"}

^{"I'm afraid we don't condone liquor of any sort, even for medicinal purposes. But take the water," the woman said. "And wait." She stood and hurried over to the wagon. She came back with biscuits wrapped in oilcloth. "In case you get hungry." They were still warm, and it was obvious she had just baked them to bring someplace or other.}

^{"Thank you," he said, standing.}

^{"Whatever you're after, it must be very important," she said.}

^{"It is."}

^{Then, as he turned and started hobbling away, the woman called after him, "Good luck. May the Almighty be with you."}

^{Late in the afternoon, he came within nose distance of a hog farm. Its sour stench stung his nostrils a full mile before he'd even reached it. His feet were aching, and the wound in his side had started a funny sort of cadence, similar to a heartbeat but deeper and slower.
Thug . . . thug. Thug . . . thug.
He wasn't sure what this meant, but he deemed it not a good sign. As he reached the hog farm, which sat right up against the road, he saw a Negro working in one of the pens. He was pouring a bucket of swill and potato peelings into a large trough. Cain stopped and called to the man. The Negro came sauntering over, taking his time. He looked Cain up and down and then whistled.}

^{"Looks like you got into it with the wrong feller, mister."}

^{"How far to Baltimore?" he asked.}

^{"Day and a half. But not in your condition."}

^{"You happen to see three white men and a Negro woman ride by this way? They'd have had a big horse with a blaze face."}

^{The man was middle-aged, with wisps of gray in his beard. He wore a kerchief around his neck and a sweat-stained slouch hat pulled down low. He had yellow eyes, and they stared at Cain with the suspicious look that slaves always gave to white men asking questions.}

^{He shrugged.}

^{"It's important. I believe they're going to sell the woman at the slave auctions in Baltimore."}

^{The man took his hat off and wiped his forehead with a hand. "Ain't nothin' new 'bout that. They's always going by here with slaves in tow."}

^{"But they stole her."}

^{"She b'long to you?"}

^"No."

^{"Then what bidness it a yours?"}

^{"I'm trying to keep her from being sold."}

^{The man stared at him with his jaundiced eyes. "So's you can bring her back to her massa and c'lect the money."}

^{"You don't understand," Cain said. "I'm trying to help her."}

^{"Help her?" the man repeated, jeeringly. "Ain't never seen no soul catcher that was any help to a slave."}

^{"Did you see them?"}

^{The man shrugged again.}

^{"I don't have time for this," Cain said, laying his hand on the butt of the pepperbox in his waist. "Did you see them?"}

^{The man's expression didn't change at all with the implied threat.}

^{"I only want to help her," said Cain. "She's with child."}

^{The man gave in to a half smile, showing a gleam of gold tooth. "So dat it."}

^{"No, it's not what you think. I just have to keep her from being sold. Did you see her? Please."}

^{The Negro continued looking at him. Finally, he said, "Three men pass by 'round noon yestidy."}

^{"They have a light-skinned Negro girl with them?"}

^"Yessum."

^{"How were they riding. Hard?"}

^{The man shook his head. "Average, I reckon."}

^{"Would you know where I could get another mount?"}

^{"You lookin' to buy one?"}

^{"They took all my money, everything I had."}

^{"Horses like slaves. You want one, you gots to pay for it."}

^{"I will when I get my things back."}

^{The Negro laughed. "Ain't the way it works. You pays first and then you gets what you want." Cain got the impression that he liked toying with him.}

^{"Please," Cain said. "I don't have much time."}

^{"We ain't none of us do," the man said, scratching his beard. "Mr. Henderson up the road a ways, he got him some horses. You might could find yourself one there. His place just before the river."}