A Knight of the Cumberland by Jr. John Fox (free ebook reader .TXT) đ
- Author: Jr. John Fox
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âI reckon you made a leetle mistake thar. Them two fellersâ daddy died in the penitentiary last spring.â The Hon. Sam whistled mournfully, but he looked game enough when his opponent rose to speak âUncle Josh Barton, who had short, thick, upright hair, little sharp eyes, and a rasping voice. Uncle Josh wasted no time:
âFeller-citizens,â he shouted, âthis man is a lawyerâheâs a corporation lawyerâ; the fearful nameâpronounced âlie-yerâârang through the crowd like a trumpet, and like lightning the Hon. Sam was on his feet.
âThe man who says that is a liar,â he said calmly, â and I demand your authority for the statement. If you wonât give itâI shall hold you personally responsible, sir.â
It was a strike home, and under the flashing eyes that stared unwaveringly, through the big goggles, Uncle Josh halted and stammered and admitted that he might have been misinformed.
âThen I advise you to be more careful,â cautioned the Hon. Samuel sharply.
âFeller-citizens,â said Uncle Josh, âif he ainât a corporation lawyerâwho is this man? Where did he come from? I have been born and raised among you. You all know meâdo you know him? Whutâs he a-doinâ now? Heâs a fine-haired furriner, anâ heâs come down hyeh from the settlemints to tell ye that you hainât got no man in yoâ own deestrict thatâs fittinâ to represent ye in the legislaturâ. Look at himâ look at him! Heâs got FOUR eyes! Look at his hairâhitâs PARTED IN THE MIDDLE!â There was a storm of laughterâUncle Josh had made goodâand if the Hon. Samuel could straightway have turned bald-headed and sightless, he would have been a happy man. He looked sick with hopelessness, but Uncle Tommie Hendricks, his mentor, was vigorously whispering something in his ear, and gradually his face cleared. Indeed, the Hon. Samuel was smilingly confident when he rose.
Like his rival, he stood in the open road, and the sun beat down on his parted yellow hair, so that the eyes of all could see, and the laughter was still running round.
âWho is your Uncle Josh?â he asked with threatening mildness. âI know I was not born here, but, my friends, I couldnât help that. And just as soon as I could get away from where I was born, I came here and,â he paused with lips parted and long finger outstretched, â andâIâcame âbecauseâI WANTEDâto comeâand NOT because I HAD TO.â
Now it seems that Uncle Josh, too, was not a native and that he had left home early in life for his Stateâs good and for his own. Uncle Tommie had whispered this, and the Hon. Samuel raised himself high on both toes while the expectant crowd, on the verge of a roar, waitedâas did Uncle Joshua, with a sickly smile.
âWhy did your Uncle Josh come among you? Because he was hoop-poled away from home.â Then came the roarâ and the Hon. Samuel had to quell it with uplifted hand.
âAnd did your Uncle Joshua marry a mountain wife? No I He didnât think any of your mountain women were good enough for him, so he slips down into the settlemints and STEALS one. And now, fellow-citizens, that is just what Iâm here for âIâm looking for a nice mountain girl, and Iâm going to have her.â Again the Hon. Samuel had to still the roar, and then he went on quietly to show how they must lose the Court-House site if they did not send him to the legislature, and how, while they might not get it if they did send him, it was their only hope to send only him. The crowd had grown somewhat hostile again, and it was after one telling period, when the Hon. Samuel stopped to mop his brow, that a gigantic mountaineer rose in the rear of the crowd:
âTalk on, stranger; youâre talking sense. Iâll trust ye. Youâve got big ears!â
Now the Hon. Samuel possessed a primordial talent that is rather rare in these physically degenerate days. He said nothing, but stood quietly in the middle of the road. The eyes of the crowd on either side of the road began to bulge, the lips of all opened with wonder, and a simultaneous burst of laughter rose around the Hon. Samuel Budd. A dozen men sprang to their feet and rushed up to himâlooking at those remarkable ears, as they gravely wagged to and fro. That settled things, and as we left, the Hon. Sam was having things his own way, and on the edge of the crowd Uncle Tommie Hendricks was shaking his head:
âI tell ye, boys, he ainât no jackass even if he can flop his ears.â
At the river we started upstream, and some impulse made me turn in my saddle and look back. All the time I had had an eye open for the young mountaineer whose interest in us seemed to be so keen. And now I saw, standing at the head of a gray horse, on the edge of the crowd, a tall figure with his hands on his hips and looking after us. I couldnât be sure, but it looked like the Wild Dog.
IV CLOSE QUARTERSTwo hours up the river we struck Buck. Buck was sitting on the fence by the roadside, barefooted and hatless.
âHow-dye-do?â I said.
âPurty well,â said Buck.
âAny fish in this river?â
âSeveral,â said Buck. Now in mountain speech, âseveralâ means simply âa good many.â
âAny minnows in these branches?â
âI seed several in the branch back oâ our house.â
âHow far away do you live?â
âOh, âbout one whoop anâ a holler.â If he had spoken Greek the Blight could not have been more puzzled. He meant he lived as far as a manâs voice would carry with one yell and a holla.
âWill you help me catch some?â Buck nodded.
âAll right,â I said, turning my horse up to the fence. âGet on behind.â The horse shied his hind quarters away, and I pulled him back.
âNow, you can get on, if youâll be quick.â Buck sat still.
âYes,â he said imperturbably; âbut I ainât quick.â The two girls laughed aloud, and Buck looked surprised.
Around a curving cornfield we went, and through a meadow which Buck said was a ânigh cut.â From the limb of a tree that we passed hung a piece of wire with an iron ring swinging at its upturned end. A little farther was another tree and another ring, and farther on another and another.
âFor heavenâs sake, Buck, what are these things?â
âMartâs a-gittinâ ready fer a tourneyment.â
âA what?â
âThatâs whut Mart calls hit. He was over to the Gap last Fourth oâ July, anâ he says fellers over thar fix up like Kuklux and go a-charginâ on hosses and takinâ off them rings with a ash-stickâ`spear,â Mart calls hit. He come back anâ he says heâs a-goinâ to win that ar tourneyment next Fourth oâ July. Heâs got the best hoss up this river, and on Sundays him anâ Dave Branham goes a-charginâ along here a-picking off these rings jusâ a-flyinâ; anâ Mart can do hit, Iâm tellinâ ye. Daveâs mighty good hisself, but he ainât nowhar âlongside oâ Mart.â
This was strange. I had told the Blight about our Fourth of July, and how on the Virginia side the ancient custom of the tournament still survived. It was on the last Fourth of July that she had meant to come to the Gap. Truly civilization was spreading throughout the hills.
âWhoâs Mart?â
âMartâs my brother,â said little Buck.
âHe was over to the Gap not long ago, anâ he come back mad as hopsââ He stopped suddenly, and in such a way that I turned my head, knowing that caution had caught Buck.
âWhat about?â
âOh, nothinâ,â said Buck carelessly; âonly heâs been quar ever since. My sisters says heâs got a gal over thar, anâ heâs a-pickinâ off these rings moreân ever now. Heâs going to win or bust a belly-band.â
âWell, whoâs Dave Branham?â
Buck grinned. âYou jes axe my sister Mollie. Thar she is.â
Before us was a white-framed house of logs in the porch of which stood two stalwart, good-looking girls. Could we stay all night? We couldâthere was no hesitationâand straight in we rode.
âWhereâs your father?â Both girls giggled, and one said, with frank unembarrassment:
âPapâs tight!â That did not look promising, but we had to stay just the same. Buck helped me to unhitch the mules, helped me also to catch minnows, and in half an hour we started down the river to try fishing before dark came. Buck trotted along.
âHave you got a wagon, Buck?â
âWhat fer?â
âTo bring the fish back.â Buck was not to be caught napping.
âWe got that sled thar, but hit wonât be big enough,â he said gravely. âAnâ our two-hoss wagonâs out in the cornfield. Weâll have to string the fish, leave âem in the river and go fer âem in the morninâ.â
âAll right, Buck.â The Blight was greatly amused at Buck.
Two hundred yards down the road stood his sisters over the figure of a man outstretched in the road. Unashamed, they smiled at us. The man in the road was âpapââtightâand they were trying to get him home.
We cast into a dark pool farther down and fished most patiently; not a biteânot a nibble.
âAre there any fish in here, Buck?â
âDunnoâused ter be.â The shadows deepened; we must go back to the house.
âIs there a dam below here, Buck?â
âYes, tharâs a dam about a half-mile down the river.â
I was disgusted. No wonder there were no bass in that pool.
âWhy didnât you tell me that before?â
âYou never axed me,â said Buck placidly.
I began winding in my line.
âAinât no bottom to that pool,â said Buck.
Now I never saw any rural community where there was not a bottomless pool, and I suddenly determined to shake one tradition in at least one community. So I took an extra fish-line, tied a stone to it, and climbed into a canoe, Buck watching me, but not asking a word.
âGet in, Buck.â
Silently he got in and I pushed offâto the centre.
âThis the deepest part, Buck?â
âI reckon so.â
I dropped in the stone and the line reeled out some fifty feet and began to coil on the surface of the water.
âI guess thatâs on the bottom, isnât it, Buck?â
Buck looked genuinely distressed; but presently he brightened.
âYes,â he said, â ef hit ainât on a turtleâs back.â
Literally I threw up both hands and back we trailedâfishless.
âReckon you wonât need that two-hoss wagon,â said Buck. âNo, Buck, I think not.â Buck looked at the Blight and gave himself the pleasure of his first chuckle. A big crackling, cheerful fire awaited us. Through the door I could see, outstretched on a bed in the next room, the limp figure of âpapâ in alcoholic sleep. The old mother, big, kind-faced, explainedâand there was a heaven of kindness and charity in her drawling voice.
âDad didnâ often git that a-way,â she said; âbut heâd been out a-huntinâ hawgs that morninâ and had met up with some teamsters and gone to a political speakinâ and had tuk a dram or two of their mean whiskey, and not havinâ nothinâ on his stummick, hit had all gone to his head. No, `papâ didnât git that a-way often, and heâd be all right jesâ as soon as he slept it off a while.â The old woman moved about with a cane
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