CHAPTER XI.
READING THE NEWS.
The next morning Old Jasper took up the story-paper and for a long time sat at the table, bending over it, reading laboriously. Not far away his wife sat, knitting and slowly rocking. Sometimes the old man's face would light up and then it would darken.
"Shot fo' an' stobbed three," he read. "Hold on, he's about to git another one. Got him! Oh, you bet he's got him foul. Wait a minit." Then, gripping the table with one hand and with the other one grasping the paper, he continued to read: "'Then the Captain findin' himself again surrounded by the'"—he halted and began to spell out the word—"'by the—b-a-n-d-i-t-s—threw down his empty pistol, drew his dirk and—' Who tore this off?" he got up excitedly and demanded. "Here, fetch me what the Captain done. Never in all my life was I left in sich a lurch. Why, thar's no tellin' how many mo' he killed. Didn't think that feller Gabe was sich a good jedge of a paper, but blamed if he didn't fetch me one with news a oozin' out at every pore. And now somebody has come along an' grabbed the works outen it. Margaret, don't you see whut a fix I'm in? Can't you help me?"
Without looking up from her knitting, she replied: "Why, Jasper, that ain't news. It's only a story-paper."
He staggered back as if she had thrown over him a pail of cold water. His hair looked limp, and dew-beads of emotion stood out upon his brow. He took a step forward and limped as if he had lost a part of his strength.
"What, Margaret, ain't news when a man shoots fo' an' stobs three? Now you air a woman of fine sense. I've allus said that, and for mercy sake don't come a tellin' me that you don't know what news is. Scold me whenever you feel like it, but don't come a tellin' me that."
She didn't look up. "But Jasper, it ain't true."
"Ain't true? Here it is, right here. Look." He shuffled over to her and spreading out the paper put his finger at the place whence the vital spark had fled. "Look, spelled out jest like in a almanic. See fur yo'se'f."
Then came her voice, cold and cutting to his hopes: "Oh, I know it's thar well enough. What I mean is it's all made up—it's a tale."
"A tale? What's that? What do you mean by a tale? Do you mean that it didn't happen?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Of course it didn't happen."
He gazed at her, wondering whether or not to accept her wisdom. Then upon the floor he flung the paper and trampled upon it. "If that's the case, I don't want nuthin' mo' to do with it. Come a foolin' with a man's affections thatter way. Ought to have been out yander at work half a hour ago. Been a settin' here a thinkin' I was a gittin' facts. Man ought to be whupped fur printin' a lie jest like fur tellin' one."
Margaret showed signs of sympathy. "Jasper, I wouldn't let it bother me so."
He started. "Wouldn't let it bother you when you been a stuffin' yo'se'f with a lie? Wouldn't let it bother you when a man gains yo' confidence an' then deceives you?"
"Oh," she said, rocking herself and plying her needles, "it don't amount to nuthin'. I wouldn't pay no attention to it."
"Look here, Margaret. Now—now, don't make light of my trouble."
Into her lap she let her knitting fall and earnestly she looked at him. "I never make light of a real trouble, Jasper, but it seems that you do. A real trouble is a comin' down the road, but you don't appear to mind it. Have you seed Lije Peters sense he was here the other day?"
"No, I ain't been lookin' fur him."
"But he mout look for you."
"He won't have to look under the bed," the old man replied, slowly walking up and down the room.
"Jasper, do you think he'll git that app'intment as deputy marshal?"
He halted and stood with his hands behind him. "I don't know, but if he do, it means shore enough trouble." He took his hands from behind him and looked at them. "Red on yo' hands don't make a good glove. The mo' I talk to Jim, the preacher, the wus I hate red. Blood may be thicker than water all right enough, but it ain't as smilin' when the sun hits it. I don't want to fight, but—"
"Oh, yes you do," she broke in. "You'd ruther fight than eat."
A smile illumined his bronze countenance. "Wall, I ain't always hungry." The smile passed and with countenance grave and with voice deep he said: "Every whar you see a home, you may know that somebody has fit fur it. Every privilege in this here life has cost blood. If a man wants to be treated as a lamb, he must prove himself a tiger. He must conquer befo' he's allowed to set down an' love. I don't want to kill that feller, but—"
Laz Spencer appeared at the door. "Come in, Laz."
He came in and took off his slouch hat, standing there as if he had something on his mind. Suddenly he exclaimed as if discharging a great diplomatic mission: "Mornin', mornin'."
Margaret bade him good morning, and then asked concerning the health of the "folks."
He sat down and twisted his hat round and round. "The folks air jest tolerable, ma'm. How's all with you?"
"Tolerable," Margaret answered.
"Yo' brother Bill a gittin' better?" Jasper inquired.
Round and round Laz twisted his hat. "Pearter than he war yistidy, but not as peart as he war the day befo'."
"Yo' mother still a eatin' of spoon vidults, Laz?"
"No, doc' he 'lows she kin eat knife an' fork stuff now."
"Any news over yo' way?"
"Nuthin' wuth dividin'. Doc' he sewed Patterson up an' 'lows he may git well."
"Why, what's the matter with Patterson?"
"Sam Perdue cut him with a knife."
"Fur pity's sake," Margaret exclaimed.
"I ain't hearn about it," said Jasper.
"Yes, they had a right sharp time," Laz drawled. "Andy, he died."
"What Andy?"
"Did you ever?" Margaret declared.
"What ailed him?" Jasper asked, showing increased interest.
"Got cotched in a saw mill. Ma'm," he added, looking at Margaret without turning his head, "I reckon you hearn about old Aunt Sis Garrett?"
"Not a word."
"Fell down day befo' yistidy an' broke her hip."
"Why," said Margaret, "you didn't tell us yistidy at meetin'."
"Wall, I had suthin' else on my mind at the time. When things git to pushin' around in my mind, I jest let one thing crowd out another."
"Fell down and broke her hip," Margaret mused aloud.
"Yes'm. Runnin' fitten to kill herse'f at the time. Can't run so mighty brisk, you know, bein' old an' sorter rheumatic, but she done the best she could. I seed a old feller a runnin' once, an' I says—"
"But here," Jasper broke in, "ain't she old enough to know better'n to run fitten to kill herse'f?"
"Yes, suh, but she had to run on this here occasion. She was a gittin' outen the way."
"Outen the way of what?"
"The crazy man that was atter her with a knife. Reckon you ricolleck Bud Thomas," he went on without a change of countenance. "He made a fiddle outen a gourd an' could play on it a right sharp. Went along by the sto' one day an' he war a settin' on a box with this here gourd riddle, an—"
"Well, but what about him?" Jasper broke in.
"He war the crazy man. Reckon you ricollect that black ash tree down by the creek at Baker's ford. Come along thar one time when the white suckers war a runnin' an' I had a pair of grab hooks, an'—"
"Well, what about Baker's ford?" Jasper asked, coming closer to him, and Margaret leaned forward expectantly.
"That's whar he hung hisse'f."
"What are we all a comin' to?" Margaret sighed, sitting back in her chair.
Laz continued: "Didn't have no rope, so he hung hisse'f with a grape vine."
Starbuck shook his head. "Oh, you kin put a grape vine to mo' uses than one."
Margaret turned upon him. "Jasper, I wouldn't make light of it."
"I ain't a makin' light of it—can't make nuthin' of it. Laz, kin you think of any other little thing that's happened to fret yo' neighborhood?"
"Believe not, nothin' wuth dividin'. Did hear that Tobe Walsh war kicked to death by a mule. Didn't put much faith in it, though."
"But was it true?"
"Yes. The mule got him. Buried ter-day."
"Oh, isn't that sad," Margaret wailed. "And he leaves a young wife, too."
"Better than to leave an old one," said Jasper. "The young widder, you know, kin smile through her grief."
"Had to tote her from the grave," Laz went on. "But she picked up a right smart chance when Steve Moore came along. Had her bonnet set fur him befo' she married Tobe, but he broke the strings an' got away."
"Don't want to borry nothin', do you, Laz?" Jasper inquired.
"Wall, yes," he answered, his countenance for the first time showing signs of animation. "I come over to borry a hoss fur a week or two. Our old nag fell offen the bluff an' killed hisse'f."
"That was ruther accommodatin', Laz. You would a been compelled to haul him away in a day or two longer. But you want to borry a hoss for a week or two? Don't you think you mout keep him a leetle longer?"
"Yes, mout on a pinch."
"Got any corn to feed him on?"
Laz began to scratch his head. "Wall, that is whut I was a goin' to talk to you about. Our co'n crib war down on the branch. Branch riz an' washed all the co'n away, an' I'd like fur you to let me have enough to feed on fur a month or so."
Jasper was standing near Margaret. She reached over and plucked his sleeve. "You can't do it, you jest can't. It would be a robbin' of yo'se'f."
"Wall," drawled the old man, with a countryman's philosophical resignation in the face of a difficulty that cannot be avoided, "when a man robs hisse'f he ginerally knows about how fur the work has gone on. I've been a lettin' putty nigh every man have what he wants an' it's most too late to stop now. Laz, tell Kintchin to haul you over a load of co'n an' you kin ride Old Roan home."
The borrower nodded his head, arose and started toward the door, but halted and turned back. Starbuck inquired if there were anything else on his mind. He scratched his head as if he would harrow up his sleeping faculties and managed to say that he believed not.
"Laz, wush you'd try to keep my hoss away from that bluff."
"Oh, I'll take as good kere of him as if he belonged to me."
"What!—as if he belonged to you? Then I reckon I better not let you have him. You must do better than that, Laz. An' say, don't furgit to fetch him back."
"Oh, I never furgit nuthin'. Good-day."
Margaret hastened to the window and called after him: "Oh, Laz. We air goin' to kill a sheep to-morrer. Tell yo' mother we'll send her over a hindquarter."
"Yes'm," he answered, without looking back, and slouched off down the road.
Up and down the room the old man walked, deep in thought. With his eyes half-closed, sometimes he looked like a lion dozing in the sun. They say that a game-cock is the bravest thing in the world. That is not true. Nothing can be gamer than a game man. He is willing to die for a principle. And never is he thrice armed unless his quarrel is just.
Laz came back to the window and spoke and the old man started and looked toward him. "Jasper, I have hearn that Lije Peters is about to be app'inted deputy marshal."
"Yes, Laz, that's the news a stirrin'."
Behind the lout's countenance a light was gradually turned up. "We all knows whut that means, Jasper, an' ef you need me, all you've got to do is to git out on the hill-top an' holler. Layin' in bed one night, an' I hearn a feller holler. I went to him. They had him tied across a log an' his shirt was off. I asked the cap'n of the gang whut it meant, an' he 'lowed that the feller had been in the habit o' whippin' his wife, an' then I 'lows, I does—'Old chap, I reckon you'll hatter swallow yo' salts. Good night.' An' I hearn him a swollerin' 'em. But if I hear you holler, Jasper, I'll—"
"Don't talk about it, Laz."
"All right. Good-day."
When he was gone the old man resumed his walk, musing: "Don't want to see nuthin' red on the ground."
He took out his knife, put his foot on a chair, and began to cut his shoe-strings. As he was cutting the string from the other shoe his wife, peeping round at him, inquired:
"Whut you do that fur?"
"I don't want to die with them on if I kin help it." And shutting his knife with a snap he resumed his walk up and down the room. "And I am a fixin' 'em so I kin kick 'em off."
"For mercy sake, Jasper, don't talk thatter way."
His sense of humor came back to him. "Oh, I may not have to kick 'em off. It wouldn't surprise me if somebody else done the kickin'. But it's better to be prepared. The good Book says—"
"Oh, now, the good Book don't say no sich of a thing, and you know it. What makes you allus want to fetch in the good Book? Don't you know it say, 'Thou shan't kill?' Don't you?"
"Yes, but I ain't found whar it say, 'Thou shall let a feller kill you.'"
"Oh, there ought to be some way a smoothin' of it over."
"Yes, Margaret, a smoothin' of it over an' a pattin' it down with a shovel."
"Oh, fur goodness sake, don't talk thatter way. It distresses me so."
"Why, jest a while ago you was fretted because I didn't treat it serious. Wush you'd sorter draw off in writin' what you want me to do."
"Don't talk thatter way. I am so anxious, an' 'specially at this time when—"
"When what?"
"When these folks air here—when that young feller is a payin' so much attention to Lou."
"Don't worry about her, Margaret. If she has to take bitter medicine, she'll do it an' smack her mouth."
"But, Jasper, he's the son of a United States Jedge."
"Wall, but thar ain't no objection to that, is there?"
"Oh, how tormentin' a man kin be when he tries."
"Oh, how tormentin' a woman kin be when she don't try."
"Did anybody ever hear the like? Jasper, don't you see how much Lou is a thinkin' of him? Air you so blind that you can't see that? An' you know that the app'intment of Peters mout spile it all."
The old man shrugged. "Yes, mout spile it all fur Peters. Let me tell you suthin'. I ain't a stairrin' round to see how much one pusson thinks of another, an' I don't know how much she keers fur that young feller, but I do know that she is worthy of any man that ever trod shoe luther. We give her all the freedom a girl wants, an' that man ain't a livin' that could turn that freedom into shame. If she falls in love with him, she will love him like a Starbuck—with all her soul. An' if he don't love her, she'll be silent like a Starbuck. One day when we was a goin' down the creek in canoe you saw a fish come up an' strike at the paddle. Margaret, that was a Starbuck among fish."
There came a loud cry of "halloa," and Jasper went to the window.
"Helloa yo'se'f."
"My wagon's stalled down here," a man shouted, "and I'd like for you to fetch your steers and give me a lift up the hill."
"What air you loaded with?"
"Hoop poles."
"All right, I'll send a nigger down an'—" Just then he caught sight of Kintchin. "Here, you scoundrel, I thought I told you to haul a load of corn over to Spencer's."
The negro came up to the window. "Yas, suh, but you didn't tell me. I heard you tell dat man Laz, but he sich a liar you kain't blebe nuthin' dat's said ter him."
Jasper turned away to laugh and Kintchin came round into the house.
"But you heard me tell him, you scoundrel," said the old man.
"Yas, suh, I wuz er standin' dar at de cornder o' de house at de time, an' I yered you tell him, an' I would er blebed it, ez I tell you, but dat man is sich er monst'us twister o' de fack dat nuthin' said ter him soun's like de truf. I blebed it when you told him, but de minit he told me it sounded like er lie."
"Kintchin, that's putty good sense, anyhow."
"Yas, suh, an' ain't all dat sense wuth er quarter?"
Jasper began to grabble into his pocket, when Margaret spoke up: "Jasper, don't give that nigger no money. He won't do a thing I tell him to."
Starbuck gave him a piece of silver, and with a look of deep injury the darkey turned to Margaret. "Now, Miss Mar'get, whut you all time come er flatter me datter way fur? You knows I's allus a braikin' my naik fur you. I don't kere ef you is er 'oman, you's got er soul ter save, an' you oughter be a lookin' out fur it."
He ambled slowly toward the door, muttering as he went, and Jasper's sharp command did not serve to enliven him overmuch.
"Come, move on a little faster, and yoke up the steers and haul that man's wagon up the hill. Never saw as slow a nigger in my life. Come on, and I'll go with you."
He hastened out, passing Kintchin and commanding him to come on. Margaret busied herself with picking up scraps of paper, among them doubtless being an account of what the captain did, and threw them out into the yard. Standing at the door, and glancing down the road, she spied Mrs. Mayfield, Jim, Tom and Lou coming from a stroll among the hills. Back into the house she ran, snatched down a turkey-wing fan from a nail in the wall, dusted a rocking-chair, smoothed herself, and was rocking placidly as any lady of leisure when the hill-side romancers entered the room.