There were twenty-dollar double eagles and every manner of other gold coins of the United States, but that was no more than half the a.s.semblage. British guineas gleamed beside broad coins bearing the image of Maria Theresa, and the gold of a score of other nations and dynasties spilled across the table with them.
The folk who settled central Tennessee came from every part of Europe and from the world beyond.
Those who had wealth brought it with them; and a part of that wealth had stuck to the fingers of Bynum Hardy. . . .
Old Nathan looked at the gold and looked at the face of Bascom Hardy; and began to pack his traps.
The rich man"s fingers moved with the precision of a clock"s escapement as he ordered the mingled coins into stacks and rows. Old Nathan rolled and tied his blanket, then gathered loose items and packed them in his budget.
He saved the sauce pan out. He"d scour that with water and sandy clay when he reached the well.
Gold c.h.i.n.ked and whispered across the tabletop. Bascom Hardy did not look up.
"There"s the matter uv my pay," the cunning man said.
Hardy started upward. For the first instant, his face bore the snarl of a fox surprised in a henhouse; but that pa.s.sed as quickly as a lightning flash, leaving behind the stony haughtiness of a banker in his lair.
"Your pay, old feller?" Hardy said. "Show me the writing! I s"pect you know there"s no contract between us, not so"s any court "ud find."
Old Nathan said nothing; only stared.
Bascom Hardy met the cunning man"s eyes, then looked away.
"I"m a generous man," the rich man said. His fingers played across his stacks of gold, touching them as lightly as wisps of spidersilk trailing from the gra.s.s. "I wouldn"t hev it said I didn"t treat a man better thin the law requires."
He glanced up, meeting Old Nathan"s eyes briefly, then looking down again. On the table before Hardy were eleven guineas in stacks of five and five and one. His sallow index finger touched the lone piece, then raised again to hover above the sheen of pale African gold.
With a convulsive movement, Bascom Hardy slid the Spanish dollar instead across the table toward the cunning man.
"There," the rich man said. "Take it "n thankee. I"ll tell all I come to thet you"re a clever man. Thet"ll be money in yer pocket so long as ye live."
Old Nathan took the eight-real coin between two fingers and turned it over. He set the silver piece back on the table.
"I tell ye!" Hardy said, his voice rising. "There"s no contract! You cain"t force me t" pay you airy a cent!"
Old Nathan picked up his saddlebags and pan in one hand, then paused in the doorway to take his rifle from where he"d leaned it.
"Hain"t loaded," he said with a tiny smile. "Don"t guess there"s ought I"ll meet t" worry me on the road back."
He walked out of the cabin. Hardy"s bodyguard had dismounted by the cabin. He watched the cunning man sidelong, nervously lipping his moustache.
"Wait!" Bascom Hardy called from the doorway. "Take your pay. It"s good silver!"
Old Nathan turned and looked at the rich man. "I reckon," the cunning man said, "hit may take a heap of money fer ye to get where ye desarve t" be. I wouldn"t want ye to come up short."
As Old Nathan walked toward his mule, he whistled the air of a grim old ballad between his smiling teeth.
The Bullhead "That don"t half stink," grumbled the mule as Old Nathan came out of the shed with the saddle over his left arm and a bucket of bait in his right hand.
"n.o.body asked you t" like it," the cunning man replied sharply. "Nor me neither, ifen it comes t" thet. It brings catfish like it"s manna from hivven, and I do like a bit of smoked catfish fer supper."
"Waal, then," said the mule, "you go off t" yer fish and I"ll mommick up some more oats while yer gone.
Then we"re both hap-"
The beast"s big head turned toward the cabin and its ears c.o.c.ked forward. "Whut"s thet coming?" it demanded.
Old Nathan set the bucket down and hung the saddle over a fence rail. He"d been raised in a time when the Tennessee Territory was wilderness and the few folk you met liable to be wilder yet-the Whites worse than the Indians.
But that was long decades ago. He"d gotten out of the habit of always keeping his rifle close by and loaded. But a time like this, when somebody crept up so you didn"t hear his horse on the trail- Then you remembered that your rifle was in the cabin, fifty feet away, and that a man of seventy didn"t move so quick as the boy of eighteen who"d aimed that same rifle at King"s Mountain.
"Halloo the house?" called the visitor, and Old Nathan"s world slipped back to this time of settlement and civilization. The voice was a woman"s, not that of an ambusher who"d hitched his horse to a sapling back along the trail so as to shoot the cunning man unawares.
"We"re out the back!" Old Nathan called. "Come through the cabin, or I"ll come in t" ye."
It wasn"t that he had enemies, exactly; but there were plenty folks around afraid of what the cunning man did-or what they thought he did. Fear had pulled as many triggers as hatred over the years, he guessed.
"T"morry"s a good time t" traipse down t" the river," the mule said complacently as it thrust its head over the snake-rail fence to chop a tuft of gra.s.s just within its stretch. "Or never a"tall, that"s better yet."
"We"re goin" t" check my trot line t"day, sooner er later!" Old Nathan said over his shoulder. "Depend on it!"
Both doors of the one-room cabin were open. Old Nathan liked the ventilation, though the morning was cool. His visitor came out onto the back porch where the water barrel stood and said, "Oh, I didn"t mean t" take ye away from business. You jest go ahead "n I"ll be on my way."
Her name was Ellie. Ellie Ransden, he reckoned, since she"d been living these three years past with Bully Ransden, though it wasn"t certain they"d had a preacher marry them. Lot of folks figured these old half-lettered stump-hole preachers hereabouts, they weren"t much call to come between a couple of young people and G.o.d no-ways.
Though she still must lack a year of twenty, Ellie Ransden had a woman"s full b.r.e.a.s.t.s and hips. Her hair, black as thunder, was her glory. It was piled now on top of her head with pins and combs, but if she shook it out, it would be long enough to fall to the ground.
The combs were the only bit of fancy about the woman. She wore a gingham dress and went barefoot, with calluses to show that was usual for her till the snow fell. Bully Ransden wasn"t a lazy man, but he had a hard way about him that put folk off, and he"d started from less than nothing. . . .
If there was a prettier woman in the county than Ellie Ransden, Old Nathan hadn"t met her.
"Set yerse"f," Old Nathan grunted, nodding her back into the cabin. "I"ll warm some grounds."
"Hit don"t signify," Ellie said. She looked up toward a corner of the porch overhang where two sparrows argued about which had stolen the thistle seed from the other. "I jest figgered I"d drop by t" be neighborly, but if you"ve got affairs . . . ?"
"The fish"ll wait," said the cunning man, dipping a gourd of water from the barrel. He"d drunk the coffee in the pot nigh down to the grounds already. "I was jest talkin" t" my mule."
Ellie"s explanation of what she was doing here was a lie for at least several reasons. First, Bully Ransden was no friend to the cunning man. Second, the two cabins, Old Nathan"s and Ransden"s back some miles on the main road, were close enough to be neighbors in parts as ill-settled as these-but in the three years past, Ellie hadn"t felt the need to come down this way.
The last reason was the swollen redness at the corners of the young woman"s eyes. Mis"ry was what brought folks most times t" see the cunning man, t" see Old Nathan the Witch. Mis"ry and anger. . . .
Old Nathan poured water into the iron coffeepot on the table of his one-room cabin. Some of last night"s coffee grounds, the beans bought green and roasted in the fireplace, floated on the inch of liquid remaining. They"d have enough strength left for another heating.
"Lots of folks, they talk t" their animals," he added defensively as he hung the refilled pot on the swinging bar and pivoted it back over the fire. Not so many thet hear what the beasts answer back, but thet was n.o.body"s affair save his own.
"Cullen ain"t a bad man, ye know," Ellie Ransden said in a falsely idle voice as she examined one of the cabin"s pair of glazed sash-windows.
Old Nathan set a knot of pitchy lightwood in the coals to heat the fire up quickly. She was likely the only soul in the county called Bully Ransden by his baptized name. "Thet"s for them t" say as knows him better "n I do," he said aloud. "Or care t" know him."
"He was raised hard, thet"s all," Ellie said to the rectangles of window gla.s.s. "I reckon-"
She turned around and her voice rose in challenge, though she probably didn"t realize what was happening. "-thet you"re afeerd t" cross him, same as airy soul hereabouts?"
Old Nathan snorted. "I cain"t remember the time I met a man who skeerd me," he said. "Seeins as I"ve got this old, I don"t figger I"ll meet one hereafter neither."
He smiled, amused at the way he"d reacted to the girl"s-the woman"s-obvious ploy. "Set," he offered, gesturing her to the rocking chair.
Ellie moved toward the chair, then angled off in a flutter of gingham like a b.u.t.terfly unwilling to light for nervousness. She stood near the fireplace, staring in the direction of the five cups of blue-rimmed porcelain on the fireboard above the hearth. Her hands twisted together instinctively as if she were attempting to strangle a snake.
"Reckon you heerd about thet Modom Taliaferro down t" Oak Hill," she said.
Old Nathan seated himself in the rocker. There was the straight chair beside the table if Ellie wanted it.
Now that he"d heard the problem, he didn"t guess she was going to settle.
"Might uv heard the name," the cunning man agreed. "Lady from New Orleens, bought "Siah Chesson"s house from his brother back in March after thet dead limb hit "Siah."
Oak Hill, the nearest settlement, wasn"t much, but its dozen dwellings were mostly of saw-cut boards.
There was a store, a tavern, and several artisans who supplemented their trade with farm plots behind the houses.
Not a place where a wealthy, pretty lady from New Orleans was likely to be found; but it might be that Madame Francine Taliaferro didn"t choose to be found by some of those looking for her.
Ellie turned and glared at Old Nathan. "She"s a wh.o.r.e!" she blazed, deliberately holding his eyes.
Pitch popped loudly in the hearth. Old Nathan rubbed his beard. "I ain"t heard," he said mildly, "thet the lady"s sellin" merchandise of any sort."
"Then she"s a witch," Ellie said, as firm as a treetrunk bent the last finger"s breadth before it snaps.
"Thet"s a hard word," the cunning man replied. "Not one t" spread where it mayn"t suit."
He had no desire to hurt his visitor, but he wasn"t the man to tell a lie willingly; and he wasn"t sure that right now, a comforting lie wouldn"t be the worse hurt.
"Myse"f," the cunning man continued, "I don"t reckon she"s any such a thing. I reckon she"s a purty woman with money and big-city ways, and thet"s all."
Ellie threw her hands to her face. "She"s old!" the girl blubbered as she turned her back. "She mus" be thutty!"
Old Nathan got up from the rocker with the caution of age. "Yes ma"m," he agreed dryly. "I reckon thet"s rightly so."
He looked at the fire to avoid staring at the back of the woman, shaking with sobs. "I reckon the coffee"s biled," he said. "I like a cup t" steady myse"f in the mornings."
Ellie tugged a kerchief from her sleeve. She wiped her eyes, then blew her nose violently before she turned again.
"Why look et the time!" she said brightly. "Why, I need t" be runnin" off right now. Hit"s my day t" bake light-bread fer Cullen, ye know."
Ellie"s false, fierce smile was so broad that it squeezed another tear from the corner of her eye. She brushed the drop away with a knuckle, as though it had been a gnat about to bite.
"He"s powerful picky about his vittles, my Cull is," she went on. "He all"us praises my cookin", though."
Ellie might have intended to say more, but her eyes scrunched down and her upper lip began to quiver with the start of another sob. She turned and scampered out the front door in a flurry of check-patterned skirt. "Thankee fer yer time!" she called as she ran up the trail.
Old Nathan sighed. He swung the bar off the fire, but he didn"t feel any need for coffee himself just now.
He looked out the door toward the empty trail.
And after a time, he walked to the pasture to resume saddling the mule.
The catfish was so large that its tail and barbel-fringed head both poked over the top of the oak-split saddle basket. "It ain"t so easy, y"know," the mule complained as it hunched up the slope where the track from the river joined the main road, "when the load"s unbalanced like that."
Old Nathan sniffed. "Ifen ye like," he said, "I"ll put a ten-pound rock in t"other side t" give ye balance."
The mule lurched up onto the road. "Hey, watch it, ye old fool!" shouted a horseman, reining up from a canter. Yellow grit sprayed from beneath the horse"s hooves.
Old Nathan cursed beneath his breath and dragged the mule"s head around. There was no call fer a body t" be ridin" so blame fast where a road was all twists "n tree roots- But there was no call fer a blamed old fool t" drive his mule acrost thet road, without he looked first t"
see what might be a"comin".
"You d.a.m.ned old hazard!" the horseman shouted. His horse blew and stepped high in place, lifting its hooves as the dust settled. "I ought t" stand you on yer haid "n drive you right straight int" the dirt like a tint-peg!"
"No, ye hadn"t ought t" do thet, Bully Ransden," the cunning man replied. "And ye hadn"t ought t" try, neither."
He muttered beneath his breath, then waved his left hand down through the air in an arc. A trail of colored light followed his fingertips, greens and blues and yellows, flickering and then gone. Only the gloom of late afternoon among the overhanging branches made such pale colors visible.
"But I"ll tell ye I"m sorry I rid out in front of ye," Old Nathan added. "Thet ye do hev a right to."
He was breathing heavily with the effort of casting the lights. He could have fought Bully Ransden and not be any more exhausted-but he would have lost the fight. The display, trivial though it was in fact, set the younger man back in his saddle.
"Howdy, mule," said Ransden"s horse. "How"re things goin" down yer ways?"
"I guess ye think I"m skeered of yer tricks!" Ransden said. He patted the neck of his horse with his right hand, though just now the animal was calmer than the rider.
" "Bout like common, I reckon," the mule replied. "Work, work, work, an" fer whut?"
"If yer not," Old Nathan replied in a cold bl.u.s.ter, "thin yer a fool, Ransden. And thet"s as may be."
He raised his left hand again, though he had no intention of doing anything with it.
Now that Old Nathan had time to look, his eyes narrowed at the younger man"s appearance. Ransden carried a fishing pole in his left hand. The ten-foot length of cane was an awkward burden for a horseman hereabouts-where even the main road was a pair of ruts, and branches met overhead most places.
Despite the pole, Bully Ransden wasn"t dressed for fishing. He wore a green velvet frock coat some sizes too small for his broad shoulders, and black storebought trousers as well. His shirt alone was homespun, but clean and new. The garment was open well down the front so that the hair on Ransden"s chest curled out in a vee against the gray-white fabric.
"Right now," the mule continued morosely, "we been off loadin" fish. Whutiver good was a fish t" airy soul, I ask ye?"
"Waal," Ransden said, "I take yer "pology. See thet ye watch yerse"f the nixt time."