With a sudden swift movement the man's hand was on the horse's bridle.
"Grab her!" he shouted to the negro. "She's probably got her money in her bosom!"
What happened next was like a nightmare to Scarlett, and it all happened so quickly. She
brought up her pistol swiftly and some instinct told her not to fire at the white man for fear of shooting the horse. As the negro came running to the buggy, his black face twisted in a leering grin, she fired point-blank at him. Whether or not she hit him, she never knew, but the next minute the pistol was wrenched from her hand by a grasp that almost broke her wrist. The negro was beside her, so close that she could smell the rank odor of him as he tried to drag her over the buggy side. With her one free hand she fought madly, clawing at his face, and then she felt his big hand at her throat and, with a ripping noise, her basque was torn open from neck to waist.
Then the black hand fumbled between her breasts, and terror and revulsion such as she had never known came over her and she screamed like an insane woman.
"Shut her up! Drag her out!" cried the white man, and the black hand fumbled across Scarlett's face to her mouth. She bit as savagely as she could and then screamed again, and through her screaming she heard the white man swear and realized that there was a third man in the dark road. The black hand dropped from her mouth and the negro leaped away as Big Sam charged at him.
"Run, Miss Scarlett!" yelled Sam, grappling with the negro; and Scarlett, shaking and screaming, clutched up the reins and whip and laid them both over the horse. It went off at a jump and she felt the wheels pass over something soft, something resistant. It was the white man who lay in the road where Sam had knocked him down.
Maddened by terror, she lashed the horse again and again and it struck a gait that made
the buggy rock and sway. Through her terror she was conscious of the sound of feet running behind her and she screamed at the horse to go faster. If that black ape got her again, she would die before he even got his hands upon her.
A voice yelled behind her: "Miss Scarlett! Stop!"
Without slacking, she looked trembling over her shoulder and saw Big Sam racing down
the road behind her, his long legs working like hard-driven pistons. She drew rein as he came up and he flung himself into the buggy, his big body crowding her to one side. Sweat and blood were streaming down his face as he panted:
"Is you hu't? Did dey hu't you?"
She could not speak, but seeing the direction of his eyes and their quick averting, she
realized that her basque was open to the waist and her bare bosom and corset cover were
showing. With a shaking hand she clutched the two edges together and bowing her head began to cry in terrified sobs.
"Gimme dem lines," said Sam, snatching the reins from her. "Hawse, mek tracks!"
The whip cracked and the startled horse went off at a wild gallop that threatened to throw the buggy into the ditch.
"Ah hope Ah done kill dat black baboon. But Ah din' wait ter fine out," he panted. "But ef he hahmed you, Miss Scarlett, Ah'll go back an' mek sho of it."
"No--no--drive on quickly," she sobbed.
CHAPTER XLV
THAT NIGHT when Frank deposited her and Aunt Pitty and the children at Melanie's and rode off down the street with Ashley, Scarlett could have burst with rage and hurt. How could he go off to a political meeting on this of all nights in the world? A political meeting! And on the same night when she had been attacked, when anything might have happened to her! It was unfeeling and selfish of him. But then, he had taken the whole affair with maddening calm, ever since Sam had carried her sobbing into the house, her basque gaping to the waist. He hadn't clawed his beard even once when she cried out her story. He had just questioned gently: "Sugar, are you hurt--or just scared?"
Wrath mingling with her tears she had been unable to answer and Sam had volunteered
that she was just scared.
"Ah got dar fo' dey done mo'n t'ar her dress."
"You're a good boy, Sam, and I won't forget what you've done. If there's anything I can do for you--"
"Yassah, you kin sen' me ter Tara, quick as you kin. De Yankees is affer me."
Frank had listened to this statement calmly too, and had asked no questions. He had
looked very much as he did the night Tony came beating on their door, as though this was an exclusively masculine affair and one to be handled with a minimum of words and emotions.
"You go get in the buggy. I'll have Peter drive you as far as Rough and Ready tonight and you can hide in the woods till morning and then catch the train to Jonesboro. It'll be safer… Now, Sugar, stop crying. It's all over now and you aren't really hurt. Miss Pitty, could I have your smelling salts? And Mammy, fetch Miss Scarlett a glass of wine."