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Again the big man made his gesture as of one putting something of no importance out of the way. "Believe what you like," he said, "I am not concerned with signs." "Why, yes, Zindorf," replied my father, "of all men you are the very one most concerned about them. You must be careful not to use the wrong ones." It was a moment of peculiar tension. The room was flooded with sun.
Lucian Morrow did not reply. He stood in a sort of wonder. But Zindorf, his face like iron, addressed my father: "Where did you get these papers, Pendleton?" he said. "I got them from Ordez," replied my father. "When did you see Ordez?" "I saw him to-day," replied my father. Zindorf did not move, but his big jaw worked and a faint spray of moisture came out on his face.
My father bore the severities of the law upon him. And I have written how strange a creature the third party to this conference was. He now answered with an oath. "You have a very pretty wit, Mr. Lucian Morrow," he said. "I add to my price a dozen eagles for it." The young man shrugged his shoulders in his English coat. "Smart money, eh, Zindorf... Well, it does not make me smart.
She was all in white with blossoms in her hair. And she was radiant, my father said, as in the glory of some happy contemplation. There was no slave like this on the block in Virginia. Young girls like this, my father had seen in Havana in the houses of Spanish Grandees. "This is Mr. Pendleton, our neighbor," Zindorf said. "He comes to offer you his felicitations."
But the elegant young man was moved by a lure no less potent. And his anxiety, for the time, suppressed the evidences of liquor. "I'll take the risk on the title, Zindorf. You and Ordez were partners in this traffic. Ordez gives you a general assignment of all slaves on hand for three thousand dollars and lights out of the country. He leaves his daughter here among the others.
It has been long abandoned, but in its graveyard lie a few old families. And now and then, when an old man dies, they bring him back to put him with his fathers. This morning, as I came along, they were digging the grave for old Adam Duncan, and the bell tolls for him. So you see," and he looked Zindorf in the face, "a belief in signs is justified."
Zindorf, do you know who built the house you live in?" "I do not, Mr. Lucian Morrow," said the man. "Who built it?" One could see that he wished to divert the discourses of his guest. He failed. "God built it!" cried Morrow. He put out his hands as though to include the hose. "Pendleton," he said, "you will remember. The people built these walls for a church.
Pendleton can draw a deed of sale that will stand in the courts between us, I'll take the risk on the validity of my title." He paused. "The law's sound on slaves, Judge Madison has a dozen himself, not all black either; not three-eighths black!" and he laughed. Then he turned to my father. "Mr. Pendleton," he said, "I persuaded Zindorf to send for you to draw up this deed of sale.
Then, finally, with no change or quaver in his voice, he put his query. "Where is Ordez?" "Where?" echoed my father, and he rose. "Why, Zindorf, he is on his way here." And he extended his arm toward the open window. The big man lifted his head and looked out at the men and horses now clearly visible on the distant road. "Who are these people," he said, "and why do they come?"
Lucian Morrow sat doubled in a chair, and Zindorf stood with the closed door behind him. "You see, Zindorf," he said, "each master has his set of signs. Most of us have learned the signs of one master only. But you have learned the signs of both. And you must be careful not to bring the signs of your first master into the service of your last one."
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