Soul Catcher (59 page)

^{Hands shook him roughly awake in the still, predawn darkness. Instinctively, he reached for his revolver on the bureau, but it wasn't there. He felt instead the hard, cold mouth of a gun barrel pressing the hollow of his cheek.}

^{"Hold still, slave catcher," the same voice came again.}

^{Someone lit a lantern and Cain squinted against the sudden light. When his eyes had adjusted, he found himself staring down the business end of a .54-caliber Perry. The bitter odor of saltpeter and sulfur still wafting from its barrel suggested it had been discharged quite recently. The gun was attached to a tall, rawboned man wearing a plug hat pulled low on his forehead. He was bearded, his sharp, handsome features appearing as if hewed from stone. Standing behind him in the small room several other men had crowded in, all armed with muskets and pistols, a couple even with long machetes that hung in scabbards attached to their belts. They brought with them the strong tang of horseflesh and sweat, of long days in the saddle. Across the bed from the man with the Perry was another man, younger, red-haired, with a sullen mouth that looked almost bruised. More finely fashioned than those of the first, his features nonetheless linked him as a brother. He held a Springfield rifle pointed at Cain's chest.}

^{"Move on peril of your life, slave catcher," said the tall man.}

^{"Dr. Chimbarazo send you?" Cain asked. He thought perhaps that the crookback had decided to repossess the money he'd lost and to send some hill ruffians to get it, perhaps even to try to take Rosetta from him.}

^{"I was sent by the Almighty himself," the tall man offered. "Where is he?"}

^{"I don't know what in Sam Hill you're talking about, mister."}

^{With this answer, Cain had the gun barrel shoved more forcibly against his cheek, this time hard enough that it jammed against a back molar. Through the metal he could feel the
glub glub glub
of the man's pulse.}

^{"I'd be careful with that thing if I were you," said Cain, staring coldly at the man.}

^{"Friend, if I were
you,
I'd start talking and be quick about it," said the red-haired man, prodding him in the side with his rifle.}

^{"I am going to ask you once more," repeated the tall one. "Where is he?"}

^{"Where the hell is who?"}

^{"Henry," intoned another voice from the shadowy corner of the room. After a moment, the owner of the voice stepped from the gloom into the brilliance of the lantern. He was an old man, his gaunt features exaggerated, thrown into disquieting chiaroscuro. Half his face was illuminated, the other half left in darkness. "I've come for my friend."}

^{This one was dressed in black--hat, greatcoat, trousers. He stood ramrod straight, with a proud, almost arrogant bearing, and yet at the same time he gave the impression of one unconcerned about his mortal appearance. His coat had not been brushed in ages and was nearly threadbare, and for a belt he wore a piece of hemp. The gray hair sticking out from beneath the hat was wild and unkempt. A man of advanced years--though Cain guessed he was younger than he appeared--he had a weathered, gristle-thin face that seemed hacked from a piece of ironwood and a riotous expanse of beard that flowed down over his chest like ashes from a fireplace. His fierce, bullet gray eyes seemed to glow red at the edges. Something about him struck}

^{Cain as vaguely familiar. Still, it took Cain a few more seconds before it came to him. And then, though he'd only seen him through his spyglass, he realized suddenly who the man was. The same one who'd been following him all these weeks, who'd shot at them back at the river. The Great Abolitionist. Osawatomie Brown.}

^{"You're Brown?" Cain said.}

^{"I shall ask the questions. Where is Henry?"}

^{"I don't know."}

^{"I am well aware that you slave catchers kidnapped him from my farm, and we have tracked you here." He cast his eyes at Rosetta, as if he'd just noticed her lying there. He gave her a quick sidelong glance, seemed about to say something to her, then let the thought go and returned his attention to Cain. "Are you denying you were one of them?"}

^{"No. I'm one of them," Cain admitted.}

^{"I told you, Father," said the red-haired man.}

^{"So I ask you again, where is Henry?"}

^{"He escaped and the others went off after him," Cain replied.}

^{"He's lying," replied the red-haired man, an excited expression on his face. He was about five nine, with narrow shoulders and a soft face that had something of the boy about it still. He was the one Cain had seen behind the house, standing with his father that day. "He's got him hidden somewhere, Father."}

^{"Son," Brown said with calm firmness.}

^{"But he's lying, Father," the young man insisted. "I say we take him out and make him tell us where he is. He's already confessed to being a slave catcher."}

^{"That will be enough, Oliver," the father commanded.}

^{"But, Father--"}

^{The old man turned his steely gaze on the son.}

^{"Forgive me, Father."}

^{Brown looked back at Cain. "Where are they?" he asked.}

^{"I told you, I don't know."}

^{"When did Henry run off?"}

^{"If you've been tracking us you ought to know it was right after we crossed into Maryland."}

^{"I do not believe you. I will ask you one more time," he said in a voice used to uttering pronouncements. The tall man looked at Brown, who nodded, and then he cocked the hammer of the Perry. Cain knew that at Brown's command, the son would not hesitate to pull the trigger then and there.}

^{"Wait," Rosetta said, sitting up. "He's speakin' the truth. Henry run away."}

^{"And who are you?" asked Brown, turning his gaze on her. His eyes slid down her body, pausing finally at her belly.}

^{"I'm Rosetta. Me and Henry run off from Mr. Eberly's plantation at the same time."}

^{"When did he slip away from the slave catchers?"}

^{"Couple weeks back, I reckon," Rosetta explained. "Them others took off after him like he said. Ain't seen hide nor hair a them since."}

^{"And what part have you in this?" Brown asked her.}

^"Part?"

^{"Did this man kidnap you, too?"}

^{She hesitated. It was Cain who finally answered. "I had a warrant to return her to her owner, if that's what you mean."}

^{He felt her nudge him under the covers.}

^{"Tha's true enough," she agreed. "He did take me. But he saved me, too. Wasn't for him, I'da been dead not onct but twice."}

^{"You don't have to lie. He can't hurt you anymore. You're safe now," said the younger Brown.}

^{"Ain't no lie. It's the truth. He saved me."}

^{"He's a slave catcher just the same," the red-haired man said.}

^{"He ain't like them others. He's a good man."}

^{"Slave catchers are an abomination in the eyes of God," the son said. He glanced toward the old man, as if for approval. "What are we going to do with him, Father?"}

^{Brown stood there for a moment, thinking. Then, turning to another man, he commanded, "Bind this one and bring him along."}

^{"At least let me put my boots on," said Cain, looking at Brown.}

^{The others turned toward Brown, and he nodded, then left the room.}

^{As he was led away, Rosetta called after them, "Don't you do nothin' to him. Y'hear me. You leave him be."}

^{They headed down the stairs. Behind the boardinghouse, in the blue-toned light of early morning, Cain made out some dozen horses, tended to by a couple of men.}

^{"What're we gonna do with him, Captain Brown?" asked one of them, a burly man with wide muttonchops.}

^{Another, a scrawny lad of fifteen, cried, "Can I shoot this one, Cap'n?"}

^{Brown silenced the men with a single movement of his upraised hand. From a sheath at his side hung a long machete. Cain wondered if the weapon was the one he'd used to hack men to death in Kansas. Taking hold of the rope that bound Cain's hands behind his back, Brown pulled him roughly along, leading him out behind the barn. The man wasn't as big as he had appeared while Cain was lying down. In fact, he was of average height, lean and hard muscled, with the shoulders and arms of a common laborer. He pulled Cain along with a strength that belied his relatively modest size. Suddenly, he stopped beside a water trough, at the edge of a corral. The air was punctuated by a sharp, manure smell. Still holding him fast, Brown gazed up at the sky, looking at it the way a farmer would for rain. Toward the east it was already turning a milky gray, but to the west it was still a gunmetal blue shot through with stars. Brown turned and leveled his gaze on Cain.}

^{"Get on your knees," he told him.}

^{"Like hell. If you've a mind to--"}

^{With his boot, Brown gave a vicious kick, which struck the back of Cain's right leg, and at the same time yanked downward on the rope. The effect brought Cain immediately to his knees.}

^{"Son of a bitch," Cain cried.}

^{"How does it feel to be bound like a slave?" the old man asked him, squatting beside him.}

^{"Go to hell."}

^{"Where you shall shortly be, sir."}

^{"If you're fixing to kill me, do it and dispense with your abolitionist lectures," Cain countered.}

^{With one hand Brown grabbed Cain by the hair and jerked his head back, while with the other he drew his machete and placed it against his now exposed neck. "
I
shall decide when you are to die," cried Brown. He was so close Cain could feel his warm breath on his face, the sour smell of his body. He held him there for several seconds, then slowly relaxed his grip on his hair. "I should be home tending to my farm instead of hunting down men like you. Is this your full-time occupation?"}

^{Cain turned his head slightly so that he was looking at Brown. "It has been of sorts."}

^{"A man ought to be engaged in real work. Not living off the sweat of another."}

^{"I reckon there's some truth to that," Cain conceded.}

^{"Have you ever had cause to kill a man, Mr. . . ."}

^"Cain."

^{"Ah," the old man said, his eyes gleaming almost playfully. "An apt name for a slave catcher. Have you had occasion to kill your fellow man, Mr. Cain?"}

^{"I have killed men before."}

^{"It is not something one ought to take lightly."}

^{"I have never done it save when I hadn't any choice."}

^{"Which is as it should be. The face of every man I have ever killed haunts my dreams." Brown's gaze turned distant and hollow, as if he were looking into his very soul. "I will take each of those faces to my own grave. And yet, if I had it within my power, I would slay every last southerner, every owner and agent, even the innocent babe at its mother's breast. All who profited from the sweat and blood of the Negro. I would lay waste to the South. Do you understand, Mr. Cain?"}