"Scarlett," she whispered, "we must get him out of here and bury him. He may not be alone and if they find him here --" She steadied herself on Scarlett's arm.
"He must be alone," said Scarlett. "I didn't see anyone else from the upstairs window. He must be a deserter."
"Even if he is alone, no one must know about it. The negroes might talk and then they'd come and get you. Scarlett, we must get him hidden before the folks come back from the swamp."
Her mind prodded to action by the feverish urgency of Melanie's voice, Scarlett thought hard.
"I could bury him in the corner of the garden under the arbor -- the ground is soft there where Pork dug up the whisky barrel. But how will I get him there?"
"We'll both take a leg and drag him," said Melanie firmly.
Reluctantly, Scarlett's admiration went still higher.
"You couldn't drag a cat. I'll drag him," she said roughly. "You go back to bed. You'll kill yourself. Don't dare try to help me either or I'll carry you upstairs myself."
Melanie's white face broke into a sweet understanding smile. "You are very dear, Scarlett," she said and softly brushed her lips against Scarlett's cheek. Before Scarlett could recover from her surprise, Melanie went on: "If you can drag him out, I'll mop up the -- the mess before the folks get home, and Scarlett --"
"Yes?"
"Do you suppose it would be dishonest to go through his knapsack? He might have something to eat."
"I do not," said Scarlett, annoyed that she had not thought of this herself. "You take the knapsack and I'll go through his pockets."
Stooping over the dead man with distaste, she unbuttoned the remaining buttons of his jacket and systematically began rifling his pockets.
"Dear God," she whispered, pulling out a bulging wallet, wrapped about with a rag. "Melanie -- Melly, I think it's full of money!"
Melanie said nothing but abruptly sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall.
"You look," she said shakily. I'm feeling a little weak."
Scarlett tore off the rag and with trembling hands opened the leather folds.
"Look, Melly -- just look!"
Melanie looked and her eyes dilated. Jumbled together was a mass of bills, United States greenbacks mingling with Confederate money and, glinting from between them, were one ten-dollar gold piece and two five-dollar gold pieces.
"Don't stop to count it now," said Melanie as Scarlett began fingering the bills. "We haven't time --"
"Do you realize, Melanie, that this money means that we'll eat?"
"Yes, yes, dear. I know but we haven't time now. You look in his other pockets and I'll take the knapsack."
Scarlett was loath to put down the wallet. Bright vistas opened before her -- real money, the Yankee's horse, food! There was a God after all, and He did provide, even if He did take very odd ways of providing. She sat on her haunches and stared at the wallet smiling. Food! Melanie plucked it from her hands --
"Hurry!" she said.
The trouser pockets yielded nothing except a candle end, a jackknife, a plug of tobacco and a bit of twine. Melanie removed from the knapsack a small package of coffee which she sniffed as if it were the sweetest of perfumes, hardtack and, her face changing, a miniature of a little girl in a gold frame set with seed pearls, a garnet brooch, two broad gold bracelets with tiny dangling gold chains, a gold thimble, a small silver baby's cup, gold embroidery scissors, a diamond solitaire ring and a pair of earrings with pendant pear-shaped diamonds, which even their unpracticed eyes could tell were well over a carat each.
"A thief!" whispered Melanie, recoiling from the still body. "Scarlett, he must have stolen all of this!"
"Of course," said Scarlett. "And he came here hoping to steal more from us."
"I'm glad you killed him," said Melanie her gentle eyes hard. "Now hurry, darling, and get him out of here."
Scarlett bent over, caught the dead man by his boots and tugged. How heavy he was and how weak she suddenly felt. Suppose she shouldn't be able to move him? Turning so that she backed the corpse, she caught a heavy boot under each arm and threw her weight forward. He moved and she jerked again. Her sore foot, forgotten in the excitement, now gave a tremendous throb that made her grit her teeth and shift her weight to the heel. Tugging and straining, perspiration dripping from her forehead, she dragged him down the hall, a red stain following her path.
"If he bleeds across the yard, we can't hide it," she gasped. "Give me your shimmy, Melanie, and I'll wad it around his head."