Chapter Seven
Gabriel Logue was patient. He stood in the doorway, lantern held high, looking directly at Cassius sitting on the stool. His expression did not change and he did not appear to breathe. Cassius would have thought him a statue but for the fact that his eyes occasionally blinked behind his dripping hat. His long tarpaulin coat created a circle of water on the floorboards. Eventually Logue set down the lantern. Cassius stood, keeping his hands visible and open. Logue had not produced a weapon, but he would have one close at hand. Logue was an outsized man, taller and broader than Cassius, appearing more massive in his long coat. Cassius had only once before seen the man, from a distance. Logue stood over six feet tall. His expressive hands were large with a span that brought to Cassius's mind eagle wings. He had a strong nose, a dense mustache, a pronounced chin with a deep cleft that was enough off-center that Cassius intuited it to be a scar. As Logue removed his hat and coat, the lantern below suddenly illuminated one of his eyes, revealing a surprisingly pale blue, and in that moment he appeared unreal. Angel of Death indeed, thought Cassius, and wondered how many men Logue had killed. Then he remembered the man's occupation and thought it odd that he had become a smuggler when he was surely unmistakable in every crowd.
"You here by accident?" said Logue, hanging his coat on a peg, then placing his hat on the same peg. His voice was gravel rolling along milled oak planks.
No accident, said Cassius.
"Looking to get your arse out of the rain, then."
Smart man gets out of the rain.
"Ah, so you think you're smart, but if you think I'm likely to infer dryness and warmth as your primary goal, you got another think coming," said Logue.
Then you're smart, said Cassius.
"I was looking to get out of the goddamned miserable rain," said Logue.
Not your primary goal, said Cassius.
Logue smiled coldly. "No," he said, "it was not."
You called her name, said Cassius.
"But I find you. Maybe you got a message for me."
From her?
Logue began to pace. Cassius supposed that Gabriel Logue was wondering if he had walked into a trap. Logue took a long time to respond. "Where is she?"
Dead, said Cassius.
Logue stopped pacing. Cassius admired the man's ability to control his emotions. "Appears to be time for me to be gone from here."
Not before you get what you came for, said Cassius.
Logue glanced toward the false wall by the hearth. Cassius brightened inside. Logue knew about the hidden place.
"All right, smart mouth, what makes you say so?"
Full moon says you show up here.
"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? Maybe you think I won't take it out of your hide."
You know who I am.
"The hell you say."
Called Cassius. From Sweetsmoke.
"Your name goes unrecognized."
Then she didn't trust you.
"I am away." Cassius watched Logue's winglike hands remove his sodden coat from the hook on the wall. Cassius stayed in the chair.
Now I wonder what I'll do with it.
"Do what you please."
Think Old Captain Whitacre'd want it back?
"Don't know what you're talking about."
But you know where it is. Your eyes said so.
Logue's expression went flat. He replaced his coat on the hook, came around, and sat in Emoline's favorite chair, the same chair she had slept in those three weeks when Cassius was recuperating. The chair expelled a small groan.
"Are you named for Cassius Marcellus Clay?"
I think not.
"The abolitionist from Kentucky."
Don't know him, said Cassius.
"Clay was recently in the newspapers, declined Lincoln's attempt to appoint him ambassador to Spain. I am returned from the North this evening, where I have been for these last three weeks. I take it as a tribute to the ongoing secrecy of our arrangement that I was told nothing of Emoline's death. And you may trust, my friend, that I am kept informed of all things that affect my business. If you know the item, then you know Union men are interested in that niddering Whitacre's correspondence."
Military men? said Cassius.
"Indeed. And as you know about the hidden place behind the panel—" I built it.
Logue shifted in the chair. Cassius thought that never before in his life had a white man so thoroughly examined his face.
"Where's your partner?"
Partner? said Cassius, puzzled.
"Your compatriot, your second, the gump in hiding with the club or pistol. The one you'll signal once I walk out of here with Whitacre's documents. If you're to extort from me, you'd better have a partner."
Maybe I say he waits outside and protect myself, or maybe I say ain't got one, so you can mistrust the truth.
Logue listened to the answer and a cautious smile infected his face.
"You have the makings of an excellent smuggler, yond Cassius."
Yond Cassius? said Cassius with growing interest.
"Is that not Hoke Howard's affectionate name for you?"
Cassius reconsidered Gabriel Logue. Why had he exposed his lie? Cassius could determine no advantage to it.
Old Master reads Shakespeare, said Cassius.
"How well you mind your tongue, Cassius. Initially I insist I haven't heard of you and then I acknowledge your master's particular words. And you endure my prevarication in silence. You strike me as a man worth knowing. That makes you dangerous." Gabriel Logue spoke with admiration. He shifted himself in the chair, making himself more comfortable, as if he might stay for a while. The chair again complained.
It is said you killed many men, said Cassius.
"Is it indeed?"
Cassius saw that there would be no other response, so he moved on: How goes your business with Hoke Howard?
"Do I conduct business with your good master?"
Hoke Howard needs you, said Cassius.
"He does indeed," said Logue, and his smile threatened to become habit. "The embargo was imposed at the precise wrong moment and his wares were left to rot on the docks, putting him in grave financial peril. Bad for him, good for me, thus he and I are indeed conducting business."
Cassius reflected that sharing information was a game to Logue. And if it was a bartering chip, then Cassius's quid pro quo was about to come due.
"I must say, your conversation is good for clearing a man's head. Frequenting the bierhaus, a man tends to imbibe to excess."
The bierhaus? In the German part of town?
"Is that so odd? From your reaction I see that my home away from home is likely to continue to fool the Anglo-Saxon planters who would not believe I house with German immigrants. Hans Mueller is in particular need of my talents."
You fear discovery?
"Mostly by my wife, as she would be mortified to learn of my accommodations." He leaned conspiratorially forward. "It does not live up to her standards. No, Mule can't afford to hand me over, I keep him in business, providing certain necessities, readily available in the North, for him to sell. At a profit, I might add. And now it is your turn. Tell me why you're here, so far from your plantation, in the middle of the night."
To meet a man coming for Emoline's intelligence.
"Would you take her place, Cassius?" said Logue as if to a precocious child.
I would know who killed her, said Cassius slowly and deliberately.
"Killed her?" said Logue, standing up. Emoline's chair tipped back but did not go all the way over. "God damn it, you said she was dead, not murdered."
Hit on the back of the head, said Cassius, indicating the stain in the floorboards.
"Who was it?"
Anyone. No one.
"This is damned inconvenient. Who else knows you're here?" He moved to a window and peered out into the rain. Cassius was surprised to see that something frightened Logue.
No one.
"Who saw you come?" He moved to the next window.
No one.
"I was careful, but even I might have missed someone. This is not good, not good at all." He closed the baffles on the lantern and opened the front door. The heavy sound of rain rushed into the room. Logue looked up and down the dark street. He stayed inside the curtain of water and stared for a long time, then returned to the room and closed the door, squelching the sound behind him. "If Whitacre's people knew, I'd be in chains. Unless they want to catch me with the papers." Another test as he searched Cassius's face for any sign that might give him away.
How does Whitacre fit in? said Cassius.
"Whitacre has been charged with capturing the spies known to be operating in this area."
You think she's dead because she was a spy?
"You know another reason?"
Cassius told Gabriel Logue what he knew about Emoline's death. He told him that Emoline's son did not know about the secret hiding place and was only interested in her money. He told him that Captain Whitacre's cook Maryanne had brought a packet.
When Cassius was finished, Logue said, "Well, if we're to be undone, let's at least see what our Emoline has collected."
Logue moved to the false panel beside the hearth. He looked at Cassius over his shoulder. "Tell me, Cassius, did she irritate you as much as she did me?"
Cassius said nothing.
Logue smiled then and said, "I will miss her, too." He opened the panel swiftly, indicating familiarity.
"It appears you did not share her money with her son," said Logue.
And I don't share it with you, said Cassius.
Logue reached in to remove the two packets. He left her money and her letters in place. He brought the lantern to the table and sat. He undid the packet brought by Maryanne. He skimmed the Whitacre letters, then refolded them and resecured the package. He opened the second packet and read that more carefully.
"Do you read, Cassius?"
No.
"No, of course not." Logue paused. "These are intercepted telegraph dispatches. They came from a telegraph operator. They did not come from a cook."
Cassius put his hand on his pouch under his shirt and touched where he knew the scrap of paper rested inside, Emoline's hand-drawn map, W York.
Could this telegraph man have been her murderer? said Cassius.
"It's possible."
Perhaps if the Confederates were closing in and he was nervous and wanted his information back?
"Possible."
And he came back for it?
"All of it possible. But highly unlikely."
Why?
"The telegraph operator's risk comes when making the exchange. Nothing in this packet suggests his identity, so he's safer not returning. Beyond that, I imagine there is a middle man."
Cassius said nothing.
"Maybe I should be grateful, this will uncomplicate my life. Without Emoline, I can go about my business without concern for espionage or patriotism. I can be the rascal full-time."
How do you get these north?
Logue considered him for a moment, and when he began to speak, Cassius again saw how openly whites were willing to speak in front of blacks, as if they were speaking to a wall or a chair.
"I suppose you're not likely to afford me competition. Not so difficult as you'd imagine. Unless you're in uniform, there's little difference between the gentleman of the North and the gentleman of the South. When transporting small packages, I simply ride across the border. Man like me doesn't usually get stopped. But I will send something this sensitive hidden in one of my wagons that will join the army train of supplies. Ever see a wagon train? Picture an endless line of wagons stretching for miles, now that is one massive operation, something no one man can oversee alone. Man's got to delegate, and the moment he does, I am in business. They divide their train into little fiefdoms, and in the military, when you see something out of the ordinary, well, that must fall under the authority of Major Body Louse or Colonel Forty-Rod. Pass the buck, Cassius, that's the army way. Quartermaster Whitacre will ironically provide the safe passage of these documents to the North. A greased palm here, a plug of tobacco there, and a handful of extra wagons roll somewhere into the middle of the line. Once at their destination, the wagons split off and after more greased palms, they cross the border. The papers get across, Hoke Howard gets what he wants, I get what I want, Bluebellies get a smoke, Butternuts get coffee, and then the bell rings and they all rush out to eradicate each other. The world is good."
So it's not dangerous? said Cassius.
"Oh it's dangerous."
Cassius nodded. Then he said: Whitacre's father-in-law, Jarvis, dusted up with Hoke. Afterward, Whitacre came to Sweetsmoke—
"Ah, to 'assess' your goods. Jarvis sent his son-in-law to get even with your master."
I knew he was angry, said Cassius.
"Hoke made too much money when he invested in that fleet of ships, before the embargo kicked his backside. Jarvis cannot forgive him."
Hoke had already moved the livestock, said Cassius.
"Good for him, anticipating Jarvis, you can't say Hoke doesn't have his moments. Wise move, yes sir, that'd put Old Jarvis in a huff. But this is good for me, I will get an excellent price on the tobacco, very favorable terms. I owe you, Cassius."
Pay your bill by leaving Emoline's money behind.
"You imagine you've earned it, then?"
Cassius shrugged.
"Intelligence and greed, you would be useful to a man in my position. Are you certain you won't take her place? Our friends up North will be greatly disappointed when this information dries up. Not that they know how to utilize it. It would amaze you to know of the self-satisfied generals sitting on their prodigious arses who ignore these dispatches. They'd rather get their intelligence from reading the enemy's newspapers."
Can you tell me how to find this telegraph man? said Cassius.
"I cannot. In an arrangement like this, it is best not to know your compatriots. Do you plan to find him?"
If you know nothing of her killer, then he is my only other link. He will have some information.
Logue shook his head as he began to understand Cassius's plan. "And this is information you must have?"
To find her killer, yes.
Cassius indicated the stain on the floor.
Gabriel Logue began to laugh. "You have had occasion to take note of your reflection, in a looking glass or perhaps a puddle?"
Now and again.
"Then perhaps you are aware that your skin is black, that you are only counted as three-fifths of a man, that you are a slave owned and controlled by your master?"
Most days.
"And you would seek poor Emoline's killer?"
It seems that I would.
"In the midst of a furious war, where dead white men are common and the death of a free black woman carries less weight than that of a horsefly, for when the horsefly meets its end it ceases to be an irritant, you imagine that you will find her killer?"
Cassius placed his hands on either side of the edges of Emoline's table.
No one cares who did this to her, said Cassius softly. She nursed me back to health, taught me to be a man when the world treats me like a boy. The one who did it took a life worth something. If he sat where you sit now, I'd take his life in return this very moment.
Cassius realized that for all the quiet in his voice, he gripped the table rigidly and the legs agitated against the floorboards. He let go and his vision cleared and he was looking in Logue's extraordinary blue eyes. Logue was leaning back, an expression of alarm on his face.
Logue said nothing for a moment, then his expression lightened.
"I'd say it's a god damned good thing I ain't the one who killed her. Lord, I'd love to be a fly on your shoulder when you chase down this man. I do believe you would be an investigator of the most peculiar variety!"
Logue laughed, but when Cassius did not, Logue cut it short.
"Do you have any plausible suspects?"
Beyond her spy connections, she also had clients.
He drew the three pages from his pouch, leaving the W York scrap in place.
"Look at you, Cassius, you're like that fellow Dupin in those Edgar Allan Poe stories, no wait, he was based on a real person, Frenchman, that detective of police, what was his name? Eugene something. Eugene Vidocq, that's it. But Monsieur Vidocq had an advantage over you, he began life as a criminal. Show me this list."
She read their fortunes, said Cassius, sharing the list.
Logue shook his head. "You waste your time here, she provided the gullible with a service, when did a conjuring woman envision futures fraught with misery? No, these were paying customers, she'd want their return business, her visions would have been hopeful and mysterious. You hold here a list of the only people who might actually mourn her loss."
You make sense, said Cassius, but he knew he would venture to see them, to know for certain.
"Any other suspects? How about the patrollers?"
Patrollers are fond of ropes and trees.
"I suppose you're right, cracking skulls is not their style. Who else?"
Telegraph man. He will have more information. Or he gave her up to the Confederates, said Cassius.
"And you insist on finding him?"
Cassius said nothing.
Logue thought for a moment. "All right, allow me to offer you some small direction. Say you know something I don't, and you got some idea where this telegraph fellow does his business." Logue glanced at the secret hiding place, as if he knew there had been more information therein. "I don't know how a negro could do it, but let's suppose you get to him. He'll be a Union intelligence man hiding out near railroad tracks, as the telegraph lines run alongside. The first question you ask is: Was Emoline revealed as a spy? If so, then her killer was Confederate."
If she was revealed, then the Union telegraph man might be revealed, which would put him in a Confederate prison, said Cassius.
"Then you'll never find him. But they might have left him in place so that Emoline and the rest of the intelligence team could be rounded up without being forewarned. Cassius, this is a massive undertaking."
Maybe the answer comes more quickly than we expect, said Cassius. "Eh?"
If someone out in the rain awaits you, then you were also betrayed.
"Hah. Yes. Time to find out," said Logue soberly. He stood and put his hat on his head. Cassius saw him shiver as the cold wet band met his forehead. "You are very much like her."
Like Emoline? said Cassius.
"Not so irritating, but she too was strong and determined."
Yes, said Cassius.
"Perhaps, one day, yond Cassius, the peculiar investigator, will do what she did and search for his name."
Cassius took that as a compliment, Logue suggesting Cassius might one day be free to choose his own name. He understood now that Gabriel Logue had known Emoline a long time, longer than he had suspected. It answered a question he had not known to ask. How had they known to trust each other with intelligence material?
Lucky you already got yours, said Cassius.
"My what, my name?"
The Angel Gabriel, said Cassius.
Logue bowed from the neck in acknowledgment, collected water rolled off his hat brim onto the toes of his boots, and he swept his heavy, saturated coat around to cover his shoulders, this time sending a fine circular spray across the floorboards.
Cassius suddenly found himself saying: Gonna find the mongrel son of a sour bitch. Don't care what it takes, I will run him down.
Logue looked at him with wonder and, Cassius thought, awe.
"Perhaps we will meet again," said Logue, and he stepped into the rain and was gone.
Cassius waited, hearing intense rain against the window, listening for a shout, a gunshot, horse hooves. When he heard none of that, Cassius thought The Angel had safely flown away.
Cassius needed to sit, and found Emoline's favorite chair. He had not known that his commitment went so deep. He sat a long time and embraced the emotion with fear and satisfaction.
He did not know how long he sat, but he roused himself, took his lantern, and returned to the muddy road to slog his way back to Sweetsmoke. He estimated that it was after midnight. The journey home would be slow going.
As he walked, his mind brought forth suspects and he tested them for motive and opportunity. He did not care for Richard Justice, but that did not make the man a killer. If Richard had known where to find the money, Cassius might have seen it differently, but that would mean he was counting on finding the money after her death. Her money was well hidden, and Richard would have known how difficult, unlikely even, it would be to find. From Richard's perspective, Emoline might have hidden it in the deep woods. No, for reasons of his greed alone, Cassius did not think Richard Justice had done it. Maryanne had been in town the night of her murder. Cassius dismissed her as a suspect. Logue had rejected the idea that one of her white clients was guilty, and his reasons had been sound. Cassius's thoughts fell to Gabriel Logue. If The Angel saw an old woman as a danger to his freedom, he would not hesitate to kill her. But Cassius had seen the man's face when he had been informed of Emoline's death. As clever as Logue was, that instant of shock was near impossible to conceal. He put Logue to the side, thinking him unlikely. Hoke Howard had been on Emoline's list. Try as he might, Cassius simply could not conjure a motive for his master to have killed her. If her death was connected to her spying, then his best chance for information was the telegraph operator, but to find him, he would need to understand Emoline's map. He began to formulate a plan and realized he would need Hoke's help, albeit indirectly.
The steady rhythm of rain gradually drummed his thoughts away. He was exhausted and as the intensity of the day released, he felt his energy drain. He was cold, he was wet, and he'd had little sleep. His pace had grown slow in the persistent rain, and he estimated he had yet to reach the halfway point home. Reality set in. How could he possibly find her killer? He tried to push that thought aside, renewing his effort, forcing his legs to move faster, but after some two dozen steps his concentration waned and he drifted back to his original trudge. The weight of his sodden shirt and trousers dragged on him. He lifted his feet and his shoes fought back, thick with water as mud sucked them back into the road. His hat brim scraped the back of his neck and drooped so low in front that it blocked part of his vision. He felt as if he was being swallowed whole by despair. He did not know what it would be like to be free. He yearned for that knowledge, and knew it would never come to pass. He was acquainted with free blacks, Emoline and Richard Justice among them, and they could go where they chose, work when they chose, they knew they were free. But they still lived in the South, they were compelled to carry their free papers, and if any random white man was to take those papers or destroy them, they could be sold again into this ferocious life.
Freedom. He had grown to despise the word, tantalizing him with flimsy hope, shimmering in the mocking distance. It meant everything to him and brought him irresistible anguish. He would have preferred to know nothing about the state of freedom, to live in ignorance and hopelessness rather than be tempted by something so odiously out of reach. And then a terrible thought crawled through his body: Suppose freedom did come, what then? He considered himself, Cassius Howard, as a man, and in a blaze of clarity realized that he did not believe that he deserved to be free. What had he done in his life that freedom should be awarded to him? He did not envision himself as a kind man or even a decent man, quite the opposite when he listened to the bitter rage that crusaded through his mind. He helped no one and allowed no one to help him, as he would be obligated to no one. But he feared the true reason: He was pridefully incapable of gratitude. Cassius bemoaned his weakness, and the thought of hunting down Emoline's killer now struck him as pathetic. He cast his eyes down and followed the tiny shaft of light from his lantern as it revealed the muck ahead, puddle surfaces frothing with thick-falling raindrops.
He didn't hear them in the relentless drumming of rain. They came up behind him and he was suddenly surrounded by horses, their hooves splashing water up against his calves and thighs, their lanterns angled into his face.
"He the one?"
"I dunno, turn your lantern more."
"It's turned, damnit!"
Three of them. Cassius barely had the energy to look up, but he knew them, patrollers, Otis Bornock, Isaac Lang, and Hans Mueller. Big, ugly, stupid men who had him, they had him and there was no escape. A small voice cut through his resignation: What the hell were these men doing out in this ungodly weather?
"Don't much matter if he is or not, we got him. What you doin out here this time of night, boy?"
Got a pass, said Cassius.
"Oh, you got a pass, well let's see it, boy, we don't got time to waste on you," said Otis Bornock.
"He say he got a pass," said Hans Mueller in his German- accented English. "Give him the minute."
Cassius wearily moved his right hand to his pouch and realized that the three folded sheets were there with Emoline's map and nothing else. He reached for the band of his trousers but found nothing. Now he was awake, realizing he had not remembered to bring the forged pass.
"Give him the pass," said Hans Mueller.
Seems I lost it, said Cassius.
"I told you this boy was askin for it. Been askin for it a long time. You gonna get yours now, you black bastard."
"Aw, hell, we don't got time for this," said Isaac Lang.
"Das ist richt" said Hans Mueller. "We need find the other one."
"We always got time to teach our nigras a lesson," said Bornock.
Why you out tonight? said Cassius.
"Runaway," said Lang.
"Shut up, Lang, don't answer him, what're you answerin him for?" said Bornock.
"Friend a' yours," said Lang.
Who? Who's running? said Cassius.
"Y'see, that's what I hate," said Bornock. "This darky always had a sass mouth, never knew his place. This is it, we teach him a lesson right now."
"Joseph," said Mueller. "Joseph run off tonight. Call us outta beds in the rain."
Cassius sagged at the news.
"Jesus Christ, what's the matter with you, Mule, why you tell him that? Now we got to take care of him, teach him his place, and it's your fault," said Bornock.
Cassius knew he was facing a beating. It would be worse in the cold rain.
"You think I'm gettin down, we got a boy to chase, I ain't gettin down; you want to take time to beat his ass, you do it, Bornock," said Lang.
"All right, then just me and Mule. Come on, Mule."
"You spend last three hour accuse me of steal your gun, and now you want my help? Go on yourself, you always say you hotshot, handle anyone," said Mueller.
"Damn," said Bornock. He angled his horse in front of Cassius and pressed him off the road, into a clear area around a hedge. The other two walked their horses down the road to a stand of trees under which they were partly protected from the rain.
Cassius stood his ground in the clearing, in the light from the two lanterns. Bornock sat on his horse, looking at him. Cassius knew he didn't have his full strength, but he gathered what he had.
"I'm beat your ass," said Bornock.
Come on with it, said Cassius.
Bornock came down out of his saddle into the muck and grass. He hooked his lantern over the horn of the saddle. His horse did not move. Bornock was a big man, he outweighed Cassius and was about the same height.
"You git on over here."
Cassius stayed where he was.
"Damn," said Bornock, and he charged, swinging his short whip. Cassius caught his hand and twisted it, and he felt the uncertainty in Bornock's attack. Bornock had expected help from Lang and Mueller, and when it had not come, he expected Cassius to acquiesce. Now he faced an enemy he did not know. Cassius gained strength and power from this knowledge, and he let Bornock's weight work against him, stepping aside so that Bornock slipped and tumbled in the mud. He came up spitting and his fury made him foolish. He found his feet and moved at Cassius again.
Come on then, give me that lesson, said Cassius. Come on!
Bornock came on in the dim light of the lanterns, but Cassius moved at him now, and landed a solid fist in Bornock's belly. He heard an "oof" as Bornock doubled over, dropping to his knees, sending water out in a wave.
"I'll kill you," said Bornock hoarsely. "We gonna string you up so high the birds won't reach your eyes."
Cassius moved in and grabbed Bornock by the hair.
You do that. You call 'em over, 'cause it goin take all three of you, and you tell 'em they gotta help you 'cause you couldn't handle me. You tell 'em that and I'll wait here.
"Damn," said Bornock and he spit something into the mud.
Or you say you did me good, you say Cassius can't stand up. Tell 'em you let me live so Hoke Howard don't come looking for the two thousand dollars it cost to replace a prime hand.
"Uh," said Bornock, squeezing his eyes together at the pain. He got to his feet, holding his stomach. Cassius took his short whip from him and threw it away in the dark. He noticed Bornock did not have his fancy pearl-handled Colt Army revolver, and realized that he had not seen it earlier, before they came into the clearing.
Bornock moved to his horse. Cassius leaned to pick Bornock's hat out of a puddle and spun it to him. Bornock swung himself into the saddle. Cassius watched Bornock ride back to the road, losing him in the rain but for the light splay of his lantern. The three lanterns joined and for a moment Cassius thought his ploy hadn't worked, but then they moved away together. Cassius picked up his lantern and walked back to the road. He followed the group of three lanterns as they moved ahead, growing smaller.
Big Gus, he thought. Big Gus had done exactly what he'd meant to do, he drove Joseph until Joseph could take it no longer, and now Joseph was running. Cassius hoped Joseph was smart and knew how to get north. The rain clouds would hide the star markers in the sky, but they could also help him avoid the patrollers and slave catchers that Hoke would employ. But things would now be more difficult for Cassius, he would have less room to maneuver as everyone would be on edge. Every white man in the area would be alert and the patrols would increase. If it had been dangerous before, now it was worse.
He came to the small bridge and stopped, listening to the swollen creek rush by under his feet. He thought about his escape from Otis Bornock, and he was gratified. Bornock might brag and preen, but Cassius knew the kind of bully Bornock was. Cassius had instilled fear in the man. Bornock would, from that moment on, always be unsure of himself around Cassius, and was unlikely to bother him again. That at least was something.