Hilyard lay on the way from the mountains to the broad plantations which still bore Durgan's name. It was soothing to him to find himself again in a country where he had lost so much for the Federal cause that he had gained proportionate respect. The mountain whites knew nothing but their own hills; but here, to everyone, high or low, it was enough that he was Neil Durgan, however shabby his clothes and empty his pocket; and he felt afresh the responsibility and self-confidence which an honorable ancestry and personal sacrifice have power to give.
The interview with the magistrate was a short one. The trial of the two negroes was put off because the mulatto had asked for ten days in which to obtain money and advice from his friends in the North. A few days before Durgan would have been enraged at the delay on Adam's account; now he was only too thankful. He took his resolution, and obtained leave to visit both prisoners.
The prison was a square house, differing from others only in having bars in the windows and standing nakedly to the street without fence or garden. Outside and in it was dirty and slovenly. Adam's cell was in bright contrast, well furnished, clean and neat as its inmate. Adam's skin shone with soap; his shirt was spotless; he sat on a rocking-chair, large-print Bible in hand; and when Durgan came he wept.
"There, there," said Durgan, patting him. "Reckon you'd better cheer up. The folks all speak well of you, you big nigger."
The jailer stood in the doorway grinning with delight at the novel juxtaposition of a good prisoner and a local hero.
"Oh, Adam," went on Durgan, "you look like a man in a tract. I'm proud of you, Adam. How's this for a good Durgan nigger?" he asked, turning to the hard-featured jailer.
The excellence of Adam's behavior, which might have been art, had evidently been accepted as artless; for the callous and indolent authorities knew well enough the broad difference between good and bad in the unsophisticated blacks.
"Adam—he does you credit, Mr. Durgan, sir," said the jailer. "Reckon Hilyard always had a good word for your pa's niggers, sir. Adam—he's all right. General Durgan Blount said as how you said he was to have his comforts."