CHAPTER V.
COULDN'T QUARREL IN PEACE.
When Jim and Mrs. Mayfield were near the door, just before starting for the post-office, she with graceful ceremony and he with the simple grin of devout worship, Old Jasper had stood looking at them, with an expression of mock seriousness; and when they went out, Starbuck slapped his leg and snorted with laughter. Margaret reproved him with her ever industrious eye.
"Blamed if I didn't think they was goin' to dance right thar," said the old man.
"Jasper, what makes you wanter talk thatter way?"
"Didn't see how they could keep from it, Margaret. Couldn't see no way to hold 'em back. Jest as ready to dance as the b'ar and the monkey that the feller come along the road with last year, mebbe year befo' last. I tell you, Jim ain't been a readin' them books on the hill-top fur nothin'. I gad, every time he looks at her he flips a star." He walked about the room, shaking his head. "The po' feller's hit. I gad, when you flutter fine calico the preachers come a runnin' with the rest of 'em. She's caught him, but he'll suffer an' say nuthin'. It's mighty hard work to wring a squeal outen a Starbuck. In that respeck we air sorter like wild hogs. I've seed a dog chaw a wild pig all to pieces an' he tuck it with never a squeal—mout have grunted a little, but he didn't squeal. Puffeckly nat'ral to grunt under sich circumstances, ain't it?"
"Oh, what do I care for yo' nonsense?"
"Nonsense! The affairs of the human fam'ly ain't nonsense, is they? Heigho, but she's a mighty good woman."
"Of course," said Margaret, crossing the room and sitting down in a rocking-chair. "Of course. A man thinks every woman's good—but his wife."
"Had to break out, didn't you? Have I said you wan't good?"
"Might as well say it as to act it."
"How am I actin' it?"
"By not lovin' me, that's how."
"Not lovin' you. Have you got any postal-kyard or tillygram to that effeck? I ain't sent you no sich news. Look here, did you ever notice that when a woman's daughter gits up about grown—when the young fellers begin to cut scollops about her—did you ever notice that about that time she begins to complain that her husband don't love her? Hah? Did you?"
"Oh, it's no sich of a thing," she replied, slowly rocking. "You know you don't love me as much as you did yo' fust wife."
For a time the old fellow gazed at her, saying nothing; and then came slow, deep-rumbling words: "Margaret, air you jealous o' that po' little grave down yander under the hill? You never seed her, the mother o' my two sons that went with me to pour out their blood fur their country; and when she hearn that they wan't a comin' back, she pined away and died and was buried under the tree whar we seed her standin' jest befo' we went down beyant the hill. You ain't jealous o' that weak little woman, air you?"
Slowly rocking, and reflecting for a few moments, she replied: "Jasper, it's the weak little women that air so strong with the men."
"Yes," he declared, "and it's the weak little women that have sons that air so ready to march to the tap of the drum. But I give you and our daughter all the love thar is in this old heart o' mine, and that ought to be enough."
"But you don't appear to want to talk to me," she whimpered.
"Talkin' to you now, ain't I?"
"Yes," she admitted, "sich talk as it is."
"Well, what do you want me to do? Stand like that young feller Elliott and read stuff writ in short lines?"
Margaret flounced out of the chair. "Oh, I never seed a man that could be as big a fool when he tried. I do know that—" Here she was interrupted by the unheralded entrance of Mose Blake, the stuttering boy with the tea-cup. He nodded at Starbuck and began to stutter. "Mother sent me atter—atter a c—c—c—cup o' v—v—v—"
"How's all the folks, Mose?" Margaret broke in.
"Glad to know it," said Starbuck. Mose looked at him with a dry grin, sat down in the rocking-chair and began to rock himself.
"What did yo' mother send you after, Mose?" Margaret inquired.
"Cup o' v—v—v—v—v—"
"Can't you write it down?" Jasper inquired.
"Kik—kik—kik—ki—kan'—can't write."
"Don't you think you mout go off somewhar an' l'arn?"
"Ain't got—got tity—tity—t——t—time."
"Wall," said Jasper, "it appears to me like you've got all the time thar is. Wall. All right, jest set thar till it comes to you and then let us know what you want." He went over to a table where his wife was standing, drew out a stool, sat down and said to her: "So, you think I can be a bigger fool when I try than—"
"Hush," she cautioned, pointing to Mose, "he's a hearin' you."
Starbuck slowly turned his head, looked at Mose and then said to his wife: "Wall, whar's the difference, he can't tell about it."
"Come atter a c—c—c—cup o' v—v—v—v—"
"Jest hold her down, Mose," Jasper encouragingly remarked, "and mebby she'll come right side up atter a while."
"Jasper," said Margaret, "don't distress him."
"I ain't distressin' him half as much as he is me. 'Bout ready to give her another trial, Mose?"
"Want a cup o' vin—vin—vin—"
"Oh, you air gettin' thar."
"Cup o' v—v—vinegar."
"Thank goodness," Margaret exclaimed.
"Thar you go distressin' him," said Jasper.
Margaret took the cup and went into the kitchen and Mose, looking at Starbuck, grinned in self-celebration of his victory.
"Ain't as h—h—hot as it was when it was h—h—h—hotter, is it?"
"Come to think of it, don't believe it is."
"M—m—m—might r—r—r—rain, soon."
"Yes, and it looks like we mout have snow some time next winter."
"Thank y—y—y—you," said Mose; and as Margaret entered and handed him the cup of vinegar he thanked her, rewarded her with a grin, and departed. For some time after his exit nothing was said, but finally Margaret, standing near the window, began to look for the ends of the broken thread of discourse.
"Now, let me see."
To help her out Starbuck volunteered his services. "We had got to whar I was the biggest fool when I tried. Don't you ricolleck?"
"Oh, you want to git back to whar you was tryin' to pick a quarrel with me, do you?"
"No, jest thought I'd help you out."
"It's no sich of a thing. You know you don't love me an' you jest want a chance to tell me so."
"Did it ever hit you, Margaret, that a woman ought to put herself in a condition to be loved? Scoldin' don't fetch out love no mo' than b'ilin' water would fetch out blossoms."
"I don't scold, and I don't see why you always keep a hintin' that I do. Scold! I never scolded in my life. You know you git mad every mornin' at breakfust. Man's always mad till he gits suthin' to eat. Scold indeed. And if I was to scold, which I don't, I'd have a cause."
"Cause! Did you ever know a woman to look fur a cause an' not find one? Jest make a cause of the needle in the hay-stack an' the woman will find it. And I want to tell you that the mo' causes a woman has the mo' disagreeable she is."
"Oh, it's no sich of a thing. A woman may slave an' slave an' never go off the place and—"
"Go off the place! Didn't you go to the barbecue over at the cross-roads last year?"
"Last year," she repeated; "it was year befo' last. Yes, an' look how you acted on that day—eat till I was ashamed o' you—acted like you never got anythin' at home. I never was so mortified in my life. Saw you standin' thar with the leg of a shote in yo' hand, a makin' of a speech."
"I was askin' a blessin' over the meat. I admit that I was hungry on that occasion; I'd been savin' myse'f up. Thar ain't no use in goin' to a barbecue unless you take yo' appetite with you."
"But thar's no sense in eatin' till everybody talks about it, goodness knows."
"Who talked about it?"
"Everybody, that's who. Oh, you wouldn't love me if I was a dyin'."
"I'd much ruther have you livin'."
"No you wouldn't. If I was a dyin' it would tickle you mighty nigh to death, you—"
In came Laz Spencer, the boy with the meal-bag on his arm.
"Glad to see you," Starbuck exclaimed, catching him by the hand; and Laz, astonished at the warmth of the welcome, stood mute, as if expecting for something to happen. "You got here jest in time, Laz."
"Howdy, Laz," Margaret greeted him, smoothing her countenance.
"Wall," said he, "ain't a standin' on my head," and speaking to Jasper he added: "Come to fetch yo' meal-bag home."
"About when did you borry it, Laz," Jasper inquired, taking the bag and throwing it upon the table.
"Well, how did you happen to fetch it back so soon?"
"Oh, jest got to thinkin' about it last month."
"Well, no tellin' what's goin' to happen when a feller gits to thinkin'. What's the matter with yo' coat-tail?"
"Was a settin' on a stump, drapped off to sleep an' the calf chawed it."
"I do wish you two would hush yo' foolishness," said Margaret. "How's yo' mother, Laz."
"Give her some interestin' news, Laz," said Starbuck. "Tell her the old lady ain't expected to live."
"Now did anybody ever hear the like o' that," Margaret retorted. "I never seed sich a man."
"Mother ain't so powerful well," said Laz. "She ain't bed sick, but she's a chillin' a good deal. Got the shakes when she went down to the creek bottoms. Can't eat nuthin' but spoon vittuls."
Margaret, dismissing the visitor from further attention, took up a coffee-mill and sat down near the fire-place. Starbuck asked Laz how his brother Bill was getting along since the fellow cut him with a knife, an affair of no particular consequence, but serving as an incidental topic for thoughtless talk.
"Sorter slow," said Laz, never changing a line of his countenance. His face was as fixed as a mask, stupid and expressionless. Whenever he smiled it was a neighborhood event.
"Wall, how did it happen, any way?" Starbuck inquired, biting an apple.
"Wall, Bill he war settin' thar on a log, lookin' out over the new ground, not a thinkin' about bein' stobbed nur nuthin', an' this feller jest slipped up an' stobbed him."
There came a hoarse cry from without.
"Somebody's a hollerin' helloa," said Margaret, grinding her coffee by the fire-place.
Jasper went to the door.
"Helloa, that you, Gabe?"
"What's left of me," a voice replied.
"Won't you light an' look at yo' saddle?"
"No, don't believe I got time. Was goin' down to town an' didn't know but you mout want to send fur suthin'."
"No, don't believe I'm pinched for anythin' at present."
"You might tell him to fetch me a newspaper," said Margaret.
"Wife 'lows you might fetch her a newspaper, Gabe."
"What sorter one?"
"Oh, one o' last year or year befo' last."
"Last year," Margaret repeated contemptuously. "If I can't get this month's paper, I won't have none."
"Wife's mighty particular about her paper, Gabe," Jasper shouted. "Say, fetch her one o' them farmer papers and then it won't make no diffunce how old it is."
"All right. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Gabe," and then thinking of something important Starbuck hastened to cry out: "Say, Gabe, you might fetch me a can of cove oysters and about a straw hat full o' crackers." The last request was shouted through the window, on the sill of which there was a tin cup and near by, in a corner, was a jug. Taking up the jug and the cup Starbuck, approaching his visitor, inquired: "Have a sneeze, Laz?"
The young fellow did not look round; he saw neither the jug nor the cup, but he knew what was meant, and with a slight change of countenance as he arose, he replied: "Ain't snoze ter-day."
Jasper gave him the cup, raised the jug and said: "Shout when you've got enough."
Instantly Laz became animated, but without a change of countenance: "Say, ricolleck that feller lived over our way, had a white hoss—one day come along and—" The cup ran over.
"You ain't very good at shoutin', air you?"
"Whoa," said Laz.
Jasper tilted the jug to his own lips and Laz drained the cup. Starbuck made a motion with the jug toward Margaret and she shook her head with a shudder.
"Tastes like the milk of human kindness," said Laz, and Jasper replied:
"Yes, till you git too much an' then it's like the juice b'iled outen the hoof of old Satan. Say," he added, as he put the jug in its accustomed place, "have you hearn the new preacher over at Ebenezer?"
"Went over to hear," Laz replied, "but a passel of us fellers got to swoppin' saddles down at the spring an' didn't. They say Jim Starbuck kin preach all round him."
"Bet Jim kin whup him," said Jasper.
"Now, Jasper," his wife spoke up, "why do you allus want to talk about fightin', an' among preachers at that?"
"I ain't allus doin' that, Margaret. I happened to mention Jim because fightin' was about the hardest temptation he had to give up, bein' a Starbuck. But, Laz, the preacher over thar is good."
"How do you know?" Margaret struck in. "You went to sleep."
"Yes," said Jasper, "but he woke me up a time or two, and it takes a putty good one to do that. The last feller they had over thar didn't; he jest let me sleep an' dream—one day I dreamed I was a killin' of a wild cat an' I come mighty nigh a breakin' up the meetin'. But this new man is a high flyer, Laz. He chaws flat terbacker an' spits right out over the dash-board." He took out his watch, shook it, held it to his ear, and glancing at the clock on the mantle-piece, declared: "Either that clock is a liar or this here watch can't tell the truth. I reckon I have mo' trouble with time than anybody in the neighborhood. None of my time-pieces can't git along with one another."
"What diffunce do that make?" Laz drawled. "The sun rises an' sets jest like thar wan't no watches nur clocks. Wouldn't make no diffunce to me ef thar wan't none. Shore ter git a feller inter trouble ef he pays much attention to 'em. The only way for a man to live is jest to let time take care of itse'f. It always did and I reckon it always will." He went over to the table, took up the bag and looking at it as if studying a problem, remarked to Jasper: "I'd like to borry this meal bag ag'in ef you ain't got no particular use for it."
"All right, Laz, but I mout need it by year after next."
"Ah, hah. Wall, I'll try to have it back by then." He started off slowly toward the door, halted and looked about.
"Don't see nuthin' else you want to borry, do you, Laz?"
"Nuthin' I can use. Good-day."
Margaret stood near the window, meditating. "Now, let me see."
"Want to know whar we was when he broke in?" Jasper asked, and she gave him a pathetic look.
"I wan't a thinkin' about that."
"Glad to hear it. Look here, it's a gittin' so a man can't set down and quarrel with his wife in peace. We air gittin' too crowded in this neighborhood. Man moved in five miles from here day befo' yistidy."
"Then let's don't quarrel," said Margaret, holding out her hands.
He put his arms about her. "No, we won't. An' don't be jealous of that po' little grave."
"No, Jasper, for she was the mother of soldiers."
Lije Peters came in, clearing his throat. Starbuck looked round at him and said: "An' Satan come also."
"Starbuck," Peters began, "I want to see you a minit, by yo'se'f."
"I don't know that I've got anythin' to say to you, Lije, but that door thar allus stands open, and I ain't in the habit of orderin' folks out of my house. Margaret, will you please go in thar?" he added, motioning with his head.
"But you won't have no trouble, will you, Jasper?"
"Trouble mostly comes to them that looks for it. I ain't lookin'."
Margaret went to the door, halted, looked back and then passed into the adjoining room. Starbuck sat on a corner of the table. Peters stood looking at him. Peters was much the larger man, and lifting at a handspike, in the clearing at a log-rolling, would have been stronger; but the bully, the half-coward, in combat, is rarely as strong as the brave man. The blood of courage case-hardens a muscle.
They looked at each other, these two men whose relationship, never agreeable, was nearing a crisis. Starbuck's voice was never softer than when he said: "Won't you sit down, Lije?"
"Hardly wuth while. Did the folks tell you that I was over here earlier in the day?"
"Nobody said anythin' about it, Lije. Couldn't have been very important—what you said to 'em on that occasion."
Peters cleared his rasp-like throat. "Mo' important than some folks mout think."
"Some folks don't think," Starbuck replied.
"And then ag'in," said Peters, "thar air others that does."
"Ah, hah, an' ef you air one of 'em, out with what you air thinkin'. Up in the hills one time a dog bit an old feller, and his son's cotch the dog an' put a rope around his neck to hang him. But they kept on a standin' thar till finally the old feller 'low: 'Say, boys, when you've got to hang a dog, do it as quick as you kin. Do you see whut I am a drivin' at?"
Peters gave a gurgling, mirthless chuckle; and loose-jointed, shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Well, nobody ain't never accused me of not understandin' things—yit."
"Mebbe it's because nobody ain't never paid you that much attention."
"Oh, you know how to talk. Ain't nobody ever denied that, but talk that don't lead up don't amount to nuthin'. Starbuck, our families wan't right good friends in the past."
"Wan't in love," Old Jasper agreed, and Peters coughed.
"Yes, that's a fact. An' I've got an old-fashioned, single-barrel, cap-and-ball pistol that uster belong to a Starbuck."
"Yes, and a way back yander it killed a Peters, I've hearn."
"Yes, Starbuck, with a three-inch slug. But that's nuther here nur thar, jest now. I'm willin' to furgit the past."
Starbuck gave him a knife-thrust glance, and replied: "When a Peters says he is, it's ten to one he ain't."
"You air still talkin' fust rate. But come to think of it, you an' me ain't been very much at outs."
"That's so, Lije. I've slept all night many a time without dreamin' of you."
"Yes. But I reckon I've been doin' a leetle mo' dreamin' than you have. Yo' daughter—"
"Only a dream so fur as you air consarned."
"Do you mean to say she won't marry me if you tell her to?"
Starbuck left the table upon which he had been sitting, and moved over closer to his visitor. "Look here: you know she can't love you, an' don't you want her because you think I've got a little money? Hah, ain't that it?" And slowly the old man went over to the fire-place, took down his pipe, filled it and stood twisting a piece of paper. "When you git right down to it, Lije, ain't that the reason—money?"
"Well," said Peters, shifting about, "if thar is money, I reckon I know how you come by some of it." He put his foot on a chair and pulled at his beard. "Yes, I reckon I know how you got a good deal of it. Starbuck, I know an old feller about yo' size an' with gray ha'r that has made a good deal o' licker when the sun wan't shinin'. And that fetches me down to the p'int. I have applied fur appointment as Deputy United States Marshal. Do you know what that means—if I git it?"
Starbuck leaned over and thrust the piece of paper into the fire, turned about with it blazing in his hand and applied it to his pipe.
"Do you know what that means, Starbuck?"
The old man puffed at his pipe, drew the blazing paper through his hand, put out the fire, removed his pipe, studied a moment and said: "Yes. It means that I may have to kill you."