Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4
In which their journey starts.

The week of Francis Truman’s death passed slowly and silently. By the end, James felt that Terry was beginning to get uncomfortable. He would too, if he were only a few steps from freedom for the first time.
“Mother?”
“Yes, James, dear?”
“I wonder if Terry, well, is not feeling to well here. I’m sure he appreciates your care, but.-” His mother cut him off.
“Yes, dear, I know it. He needs his freedom. I have thought about it already. Do… would you like at all to go with him?” Should he answer honestly? Or should he stay with his mother?
“Yes, mother. But what about you? I can’t just leave you here all alone.”
“Aunt Carroll would like some company on the mountains while her John is away. I should like to go see her.”
“But… mother?”
“Hm?”
“I shall miss you.” Like a child, James clung hopelessly to his mother.
“I shall miss you, too dear. I love you.”

* * *

As James waved goodbye to his little Mother, the horses trotted on.
“Well, well, we’re on ou’ way! Dese a’ some mighty fine hosses ya gots here.” James looked over at the two obedient, faithful mares and smiled.
“This is Grace, and the Lighter one is Faith. They have been great horses for us.” He patted Grace’s back. Terry looked around.
“Let’s see here. It tooks me fo’ weeks ta gets here, hitchin’ rides and such, and so it shod tooks us ‘bout three ta gets back.”
Quickly did the first week pass, but it was not so for the second and third. The third just seemed to drag on in endless hours. Travelling made them both tiresome and unhappy. On the fourth day of the third week, James and Terry stepped out of their little tents.
“Mornin’ James.”
“G’morning, Terry.” But, in both of their minds, the morning was not at all good. A chilly breeze hung in the air. Fall was coming. The day went on as usual and unexciting, until evening came.
“James, listen. Whoa, girls.” The horses’ hooves stopped in front of them, but in the distance, violent gallop echoed off the mountain walls.
“Hi-jackers!” Terry whispered. He jumped off the small cart. A black coach stopped in front of him. On the side, a symbol of the Southern Pirates was painted in red. The Southern Pirates Gang was known for leaving it’s mark in various crimes in a network of people. Right now, the last thing they needed was for The Southern Pirates to show up.
“What ‘dya want!” A masked man stepped out and stopped. Slowly, he untied the bandana from his mouth and nose. A dirty, unshaven face was revealed, and yellow, ugly teeth in his grin. Most unmistakably, there was a long mark on the side of his face. A nasty scar, but this man wore it with pride.
“Now, ye ain’t so smart, is you?” He hissed, stepping forward. Terry still towered over the man, with a flash in his eye.
“You knows why I come here, do ye not? I am Charles’s nephew. You are his slave. There ain’t no way you can take that away from me, you black man!” Terry did not budge. He did not anger. Instead, he said in a deep voice,
“’Cept you knows I can whoop you, Trip Wallace.” Trip laughed, and pulled out a pistol. Terry moved like anger. The pistol fell to the ground, and then bent in Terry’s own, firm hands. Trip glanced at the pistol, then at Terry.
“Boys, beat ‘em.” Two strong-looking men stepped out of the carriage. Their hands pulled back like catapults. Up came Terry’s rocks of fist. James walked in awe. The muscles on Terry’s arms were iron.
“Mercy, man,” they cried “Mercy please!” Terry stepped back with a glare on his face.
“Cryin’ for mercy likes a little girl. Humph! We wills handle ‘dis in co’t.” Silently, Terrance crept back into the cart. James dared not say a word. Thenceforth, that was the rest of the journey. Without a word.