48

THE CHASE

THE TWO MEN HAD WATCHED him enter the mansion the night before. Today, Earl and Stanley waited on horseback until the Dutchman reappeared, dashing from behind the house in haste. They followed his carriage back through the crowded streets of Savannah. The boys were in no hurry because if it took weeks to catch him unaware, they vowed to seek revenge. For every foot he took, the Crocker boys were not far behind. They pledged to follow him wherever he went to get back what he had stolen from them. The swollen welts on their backs were a daily reminder of the beating they received from the cruel man’s whip. This man was never going to take a whip to anyone again. The Crocker fellers were going to make sure of that fact. But straight-out killing was too good for one as loathsome as the man from Aruba who raped, murdered, and traded slaves for a living. They had some time to think about torture and how they would enjoy seeing the man scream in pain for what he did to them.

Earl Crocker had been a tradesman on the railroad for a few months before greed got the best of him—that and being too hungover to make it to work on time. He recruited his younger cousin Stanley for a job that seemed simple enough—steal a young girl and bring her to the harbor for pick up.

“Looks like he got somewhere else to go. He’s headin’ out of town in a big hurry.” Earl spit the tobacco juice out before kicking his horse into a full gallop to keep up with the carriage speeding ahead of them.

Stanley loved a chase. They grew up as farmhands, so riding long distances didn’t bother them a bit. In fact, patrolling the roads all night long to catch runaway slaves was a sport they rather enjoyed. Now that the Fugitive Slave Act was being enforced, it gave them more authority to shoot without asking questions when spotting a Negro out after dark.

After riding for two hours, it occurred to the boys that the Dutchman was heading back to the port town where they had lost the girl. Stanley hollered for his cousin’s attention. He pulled his horse up alongside Earl’s. “What if he taken a boat somewhere? We can’t walk on water.” He was starting to balk at the notion of tailing the man for the additional hours.

“Oh, you chicken belly wimp. If we don’t keep up, we might lose him for good. Ya want that on your mind day and night? That we was this close and let him go cuz we was too lazy to keep riding?” Earl could always bait him into taking the hook and reel him in without much effort.

“Yeah, you is right,” he said sheepishly. “Let’s keep that vow to track him down no matter what. Let’s go.” Stanley let out a screech and whipped his horse to charge ahead. The carriage was still in sight about two miles ahead of them. Nightfall was upon them.

By the time the carriage took another direction, daylight was starting to break. The morning star was just over the horizon, and the boys were dog-tired from riding all night. “Hey, he headin’ in the wrong direction. Where’d he go now?” Stanley sounded raspy from lack of sleep and nourishment. “Look like he headin’ into farm territory.”

By the time they caught up to where the carriage had turned off the road, they were able to see the post near the gate. Neither could read or write, but the symbol carved into the wood next to the words ‘Crescent Farm’ gave them a clue. “Look like a half-moon or somethin’. Wonder who lives here.” Stanley lifted his hat to scratch his head and wipe his sweaty brow with his hat. He pulled down the bandana off his nose and mouth.

“Might be the man on the moon, stupid.” Earl was tired and cranky. He was easily provoked when going without liquor for too long a spell. “You got any whiskey left in that canteen of yours? I know you ain’t been sippin’ on water all these miles.”

“No, but I hear a brook. Let’s water them horses and follow up by foot. He ain’t goin’ beyond that farm house up yonder beyond those pine trees.” Stanley was already off his horse, leading the animal to water.

Earl remained seated atop his horse and squinted his eyes to better see up ahead. The carriage had disappeared in the pine trees leading up to the house. It was now daylight, and he sure wished he knew what the Dutchman was up to now. It was never any good. They had followed him the night he raped and killed that woman after beating her senseless. He shook his head, wondering if the man looking like a field hand entering the mansion earlier that day might be this man in the moon. If so, his woman was alone and unprotected.

With a sense of urgency, he slid off his horse and quickly led his animal to the brook. He fell to the ground and gulped some fresh water himself. He untied the bandana around his neck and rinsed the dust out. Using it as a wash-rag, he wiped his face and neck clean. He had a feeling it was going to be a rough morning, and he sure wished he had some whiskey for strength.