Gone With the Wind《飘》Part 20

Big Sam looked down and his bare toe traced aimless marks in the road. There was a furtive uneasiness about him.
“Now, why? I’ll pay you good wages. You must stay with me.”
The big black face, stupid and as easily read as a child’s, looked up at her and there was fear in it. He came closer and, leaning over the side of the buggy, whispered: “Miss Scarlett, Ah got ter git outer ‘Lanta. Ah got ter git ter Tara whar dey woan fine me. Ah—Ah done kilt a man.”
“A darky?”
“No’m. A w’ite man. A Yankee sojer and dey’s lookin’ fer me. Dat de reason Ah’m hyah at Shantytown.”
“How did it happen?”
“He wuz drunk an’ he said sumpin’ Ah couldn’ tek noways an’ Ah got mah han’s on his neck—an’ Ah din’ mean ter kill him, Miss Scarlett, but mah han’s is pow’ful strong, an’ fo’ Ah knowed it, he wuz kilt. An’ Ah wuz so sceered Ah din’ know whut ter do! So Ah come out hyah ter hide an’ w’en Ah seed you go by yestiddy, Ah says ‘Bress Gawd! Dar Miss Scarlett! She tek keer of me. She ain’ gwine let de Yankees git me. She sen’ me back ter Tara.”
“You say they’re after you? They know you did it?”
“Yas’m, Ah’s so big dar ain’ no mistakin’ me. Ah spec Ah’s de bigges’ nigger in ‘Lanta. Dey done been out hyah already affer me las’ night but a nigger gal, she hid me in a cabe ober in de woods, tell dey wuz gone.”
Scarlett sat frowning for a moment. She was not in the least alarmed or distressed that Sam had committed mur¬der, but she was disappointed that she could not have him as a driver. A big negro like Sam would be as good a bodyguard as Archie. Well, she must get him safe to Tara somehow, for of course the authorities must not get him. He was too valuable a darky to be hanged. Why, he was the best foreman Tara had ever had! It did not enter Scarlett’s mind that he was free. He still belonged to her, like Pork and Mammy and Peter and Cookie and Prissy. He was still “one of our family” and, as such, must be protect¬ed.
“I’ll send you to Tara tonight,” she said finally. “Now Sam, I’ve got to drive out the road a piece, but I ought to be back here before sundown. You be waiting here for me when I come back. Don’t tell anyone where you are going and if you’ve got a hat, bring it along to hide your face.”
“Ah ain’ got no hat.”
“Well, here’s a quarter. You buy a hat from one of those shanty darkies and meet me here.”
“Yas’m.” His face glowed with relief at once more hav¬ing someone to tell him what to do.
Scarlett drove on thoughtfully. Will would certainly wel¬come a good field hand at Tara. Pork had never been any good in the fields and never would be any good. With Sam on the place, Pork could come to Atlanta and join Dilcey as she had promised him when Gerald died.
When she reached the mill the sun was setting and it was later than she cared to be out. Johnnie Gallegher was standing in the doorway of the miserable shack that served as cook room for the little lumber camp. Sitting on a log in front of the slab-sided shack that was their sleep¬ing quarters were four of the five convicts Scarlett had ap¬portioned to Johnnie’s mill. Their convict uniforms were dirty and foul with sweat, shackles clanked between their ankles when they moved tiredly, and there was an air of apathy and despair about them. They were a thin, un¬wholesome lot, Scarlett thought, peering sharply at them, and when she had leased them, so short a time before, they were an upstanding crew. They did not even raise their eyes as she dismounted from the buggy but Johnnie turned toward her, carelessly dragging off his hat. His lit¬tle brown face was as hard as a nut as he greeted her.
“I don’t like the look of the men,” she said abruptly. “They don’t look well. Where’s the other one?”
“Says he’s sick,” said Johnnie laconically. “He’s in the bunk house.”
“What ails him?”
“Laziness, mostly.”
“I’ll go see him.”
“Don’t do that. He’s probably nekkid. I’ll tend to him. He’ll be back at