The Conjure Woman Charles W. Chesnutt (best fiction novels .TXT) 📖

he got de mule, en de po’ buckrah say his brer raise’ de mule down on Rockfish Creek. Mars Jim was a little s’picious er seein’ a po’ w’ite man wid sech a fine creetur, but he fin’lly ’greed ter gib de man fifty dollars fer de mule⁠—’bout ha’f w’at a good mule was wuf dem days.

“He tied de mule behin’ de buggy w’en he went home, en put ’im ter ploughin’ cotton de nex’ day. De mule done mighty well fer th’ee er fo’ days, en den de niggers ’mence’ ter notice some quare things erbout him. Dey wuz a medder on de plantation whar dey use’ ter put de hosses en mules ter pastur’. Hit was fence’ off fum de corn-fiel’ on one side, but on de yuther side’n de pastur’ was a terbacker-patch w’at wa’n’t fence’ off, ’ca’se de beastisses doan none un ’em eat terbacker. Dey doan know w’at’s good! Terbacker is lack religion, de good Lawd made it fer people, en dey ain’ no yuther creetur w’at kin ’preciate it. De darkies notice’ dat de fus’ thing de new mule done, w’en he was turnt inter de pastur’, wuz ter make fer de terbacker-patch. Co’se dey didn’ think nuffin un it, but nex’ mawnin’, w’en dey went ter ketch ’im, dey ’skivered dat he had eat up two whole rows er terbacker plants. Atter dat dey had ter put a halter on ’im, en tie ’im ter a stake, er e’se dey wouldn’ ’a’ been naer leaf er terbacker lef’ in de patch.

“Ernudder day one er de han’s, name’ ’Dolphus, hitch’ de mule up, en dribe up here ter dis yer vimya’d⁠—dat wuz w’en ole Mars Dugal’ own’ dis place. Mars Dugal’ had kilt a yearlin’, en de naber w’ite folks all sont ober fer ter git some fraish beef, en Mars Jim had sont ’Dolphus fer some too. Dey wuz a winepress in de ya’d whar ’Dolphus lef’ de mule a-stan’in’, en right in front er de press dey wuz a tub er grape-juice, des pressed out, en a little ter one side a bairl erbout half full er wine w’at had be’n stan’in’ two er th’ee days, en had begun ter git sorter sha’p ter de tas’e. Dey wuz a couple er bo’ds on top er dis yer bairl, wid a rock laid on ’em ter hol’ ’em down. Ez I wuz a-sayin’, ’Dolphus lef’ de mule stan’in’ in de ya’d, en went inter de smoke-house fer ter git de beef. Bimeby, w’en he come out, he seed de mule a-stagg’rin’ ’bout de ya’d; en ’fo’ ’Dolphus could git dere ter fin’ out w’at wuz de matter, de mule fell right ober on his side, en laid dere des’ lack he was dead.

“All de niggers ’bout de house run out dere fer ter see w’at wuz de matter. Some say de mule had de colic; some say one thing en some ernudder; ’tel bimeby one er de han’s seed de top wuz off’n de bairl, en run en looked in.

“ ‘Fo’ de Lawd!’ he say, ‘dat mule drunk! he be’n drinkin’ de wine.’ En sho’ ’nuff, de mule had pas’ right by de tub er fraish grape-juice en push’ de kiver off’n de bairl, en drunk two er th’ee gallon er de wine w’at had been stan’in’ long ernough fer ter begin ter git sha’p.

“De darkies all made a great ’miration ’bout de mule gittin’ drunk. Dey never hadn’ seed nuffin lack it in dey bawn days. Dey po’d water ober de mule, en tried ter sober ’im up; but it wa’n’t no use, en ’Dolphus had ter take de beef home on his back, en leabe de mule dere, ’tel he slep’ off ’is spree.

“I doan ’member whe’r I tol’ you er no, but w’en Primus disappear’ fum de plantation, he lef’ a wife behin’ ’im⁠—a monst’us good-lookin’ yaller gal, name’ Sally. W’en Primus had be’n gone a mont’ er so, Sally ’mence’ fer ter git lonesome, en tuk up wid ernudder young man name’ Dan, w’at b’long’ on de same plantation. One day dis yer Dan tuk de noo mule out in de cotton-fiel’ fer ter plough, en w’en dey wuz gwine ’long de tu’n-row, who sh’d he meet but dis yer Sally. Dan look’ ’roun’ en he didn’ see de oberseah nowhar, so he stop’ a minute fer ter run on wid Sally.

“ ‘Hoddy, honey,’ sezee. ‘How you feelin’ dis mawnin’?’

“ ‘Fus’ rate,’ ’spon’ Sally.

“Dey wuz lookin’ at one ernudder, en dey didn’ naer one un ’em pay no ’tention ter de mule, who had turnt ’is head ’roun’ en wuz lookin’ at Sally ez ha’d ez he could, en stretchin’ ’is neck en raisin’ ’is years, en whinnyin’ kinder sof’ ter hisse’f.

“ ‘Yas, honey,’ ’lows Dan, ‘en you gwine ter feel fus’ rate long ez you sticks ter me. Fer I’s a better man dan dat low-down runaway nigger Primus dat you be’n wastin’ yo’ time wid.’

“Dan had let go de plough-handle, en had put his arm ’roun’ Sally, en wuz des gwine ter kiss her, w’en sump’n ketch’ ’im by de scruff er de neck en flung ’im ’way ober in de cotton-patch. W’en he pick’ ’isse’f up, Sally had gone kitin’ down de tu’n-row, en de mule wuz stan’in’ dere lookin’ ez ca’m en peaceful ez a Sunday mawnin’.

“Fus’ Dan had ’lowed it wuz de oberseah w’at had cotch’ ’im wastin’ ’is time. But dey wa’n’t no oberseah in sight, so he ’cluded it must ’a’ be’n de mule. So he pitch’ inter de mule en lammed ’im ez ha’d ez he could. De mule tuk it all, en ’peared ter be ez ’umble ez a mule could be; but w’en dey wuz makin’ de turn at de een’ er de row, one er de plough-lines got under de mule’s hin’ leg. Dan retch’ down ter git de line out, sorter keerless like, w’en de mule haul’ off en kick him clean ober de fence inter a brier-patch on de yuther