She hurried down in the darkness to grasp his cold wet hand and hear him whisper:
"They're after me-- going to Texas--my horse is about dead--and I'm about starved. Ashley said you'd-- Don't light the candle!
Don't wake the darkies. . . . I don't want to get you folks in trouble if I can help it."
With the kitchen blinds drawn and all the shades pulled down to the sills, he permitted a light and he talked to Frank in swift jerky sentences as Scarlett hurried about, trying to scrape together a meal for him.
He was without a greatcoat and soaked to the skin.
He was hatless and his black hair was plastered to his little skull.
But the merriment of the Fontaine boys, a chilling merriment that night, was in his little dancing eyes as he gulped down the whisky she brought him.
Scarlett thanked God that Aunt Pittypat was snoring undisturbed upstairs.
She would certainly swoon if she saw this apparition.
"One damned bast--Scallawag less," said Tony, holding out his glass for another drink.
"I've ridden hard and it'll cost me my skin if I don't get out of here quick, but it was worth it.
By God, yes!
I'm going to try to get to Texas and lay low there.
Ashley was with me in Jonesboro and he told me to come to you all.
Got to have another horse, Frank, and some money.
My horse is nearly dead--all the way up here at a dead run--and like a fool I went out of the house today like a bat out of hell without a coat or hat or a cent of money.
Not that there's much money in our house."
He laughed and applied himself hungrily to the cold corn pone and cold turnip greens on which congealed grease was thick in white flakes.
"You can have my horse," said Frank calmly.
"I've only ten dollars with me but if you can wait till morning--"
"Hell's afire, I can't wait!" said Tony, emphatically but jovially.
"They're probably right behind me.
I didn't get much of a start.
If it hadn't been for Ashley dragging me out of there and making me get on my horse, I'd have stayed there like a fool and probably had my neck stretched by now.
Good fellow, Ashley."
So Ashley was mixed up in this frightening puzzle.
Scarlett went cold, her hand at her throat.
Did the Yankees have Ashley now?
Why, why didn't Frank ask what it was all about?
Why did he take it all so coolly, so much as a matter of course?
She struggled to get the question to her lips.
"What--" she began.
"Who--"
"Your father's old overseer--that damned--Jonas Wilkerson."
"Did you--is he dead?"
"My God, Scarlett O'Hara!" said Tony peevishly.
"When I start out to cut somebody up, you don't think I'd be satisfied with scratching him with the blunt side of my knife, do you?
No, by God, I cut him to ribbons."
"Good," said Frank casually.
"I never liked the fellow."
Scarlett looked at him.
This was not the meek Frank she knew, the nervous beard clawer who she had learned could be bullied with such ease.
There was an air about him that was crisp and cool and he was meeting the emergency with no unnecessary words.
He was a man and Tony was a man and this situation of violence was men's business in which a woman had no part.
"But Ashley-- Did he--"
"No.
He wanted to kill him but I told him it was my right, because Sally is my sister-in-law, and he saw reason finally.
He went into Jonesboro with me, in case Wilkerson got me first.
But I don't think old Ash will get in any trouble about it.
I hope not.