"Nappin'!" in scornful falsetto. "How _could_ I get a shot, with ye
a-trompin' up ez n'isy ez a herd o' cattle?"
The reproach evidently struck home, for the elder said nothing. With
the thoroughness characteristic of the habitual liar, Walter proceeded
to add circumstance to his original statement.
"I seen the buck whenst he fust kem sidlin' an' slippin' up ter the
water, oneasy an' onsartain from the fust minute. I hed jes' sighted
my rifle. An' hyar ye kem, a-bulgin' out o' the lau'l, an' sp'iled my
shot." As the verisimilitude of his representations bore upon him, he
unconsciously assumed the sentiments natural to the situation
simulated. "Who tole ye ez I war hyar, anyhows?" he demanded angrily.
"'Dosia," replied Justus Hoxon in a mild tone. Then, with an effort at
exculpation, "I 'lowed ye'd be keen--plumb sharp set--fur news 'bout
the prospec's o' the 'lection. An' she 'lowed ez ye hed kem down hyar
hopin' ter git a deer. 'T war The'dosia."
At the name the other had turned slightly away and looked down, a
gesture that invidious daylight might have interpreted as anxiety, or
faltering, or at the least replete with consciousness. But even if
open to observation, it could scarcely have signified aught to Justus
Hoxon, wrapped in his own thoughts, and in his absorbing interest in
the events of the day. His mental attitude was so apparent to his
brother, albeit his form was barely distinguishable as they stood
together by the salt lick, that Wat ventured a question--a bold one,
it seemed to him, and he felt a chill because of its temerity.
"Glad ter see ye, I s'pose?"
"Plumb tickled ter death," exclaimed Justus, his laughing voice full
of reminiscent enthusiasm. "Thar war a big crowd at the Cross-Roads
ter hear the speakin', an' a toler'ble gatherin' at Sycamore Gap.
Everybody inquired partic'lar arter ye, an' whenst I tole 'em ye war
tuk sick, an' couldn't be thar, an' I war 'lectioneerin' in yer place,
they shuck han's, an' shuck han's. One ole man--ole Sam Coggins, up
ter Sims's Mill--says ter me, he says, 'I dunno yer brother, Justus
Hoxon; but blister my boots, ef I don't vote fur anybody ez air kin
ter you-uns, an' ez ye hev set yer heart on 'lectin' ter office.' An'
the way folks inquired arter ye, an'"--
"I ain't talkin' 'bout the 'lection," Wat broke in brusquely. "I war
axin' 'bout 'Dosia. She war"--he hesitated--"liable ter be glad ter
see ye, I reckon."
There was a note of surprise in his brother's voice from which Wat
shrank in sudden alarm. "Oh, _'Dosia_! Course she war glad. I seen her
jes' now, an' she told me ez ye hed kem down ter the lick ter git a
shot at the deer, bein' ez she hed 'lowed the venison war powerful
good 'bout now. I never stayed but a minute. I says, ''Dosia, ye an'
me hev got the rest o' our lives ter do our courtin' in, but this
'lection hev got ter be tended ter _now_, kase ef Wat ain't 'lected
it'll set him back all his life. Some folks 'low ez 't ain't perlite
an' respec'ful, nohow, fur pore folks like we-uns ter run fur office,
like ez ef we war good ez anybody.' An' 'Dosia she jes' hustled me
out'n the house. 'G'long! G'long! Do _everything_ 'bout'n the
'lection! Turn every stone! Time enough fur courtin' arterward! Time
enough!'"
Once more Justus laughed contentedly.
The man beside him stirred uneasily, then broke out irritably: "Waal,
_I'm_ powerful tired o' this 'lection foolishness, fur one. I wisht I
hed never let ye push an' boost me inter it. I reckon them war right
ez 'lowed pore folks like we-uns ain't fit ter run fur office, an'
ain't goin' ter git 'lected. I'd never hev dreamt o' sech ef it
hedn't been fur you-uns--never in this worl'." Walter's voice sunk
moodily, and he had a flouting gesture as he turned aside.
A vicarious ambition is the most ungrateful of passions. There was
something more than anger, than eager affection, than urgent reproach,
than prescient alarm, albeit all rang sharply forth, in his brother's
voice raised to reply; it was a keen note of helplessness, from which
Walter's nerves recoiled with a sense of pain, so insistently
clamorous it was.
"How kin ye say that!" cried Justus. "Fur ye ter stan' thar, ready ter
throw away all yer good chances, jes' kase ye hev got the rheumatics
an' don't feel like viewin' the people--though it 'pears like ye air
well enough ter go huntin' of deer of a damp night at a salt lick! An'
then, kase a mean-spirited half-liver flings dirt on ye an' yer
fambly, fur ye ter sit down on a low stool, an' fill yer mouth with
mud, an' 'low this air plenty good enough fur we-uns! 'Pore folks
ain't fit ter git 'lected ter office!'" with scornful iteration. "My
Lord! this hyar is a democratic kentry!" with an echo from the stump
speeches of the day. "Leastwise the folks yander at Sycamore Gap
'peared ter think so. This hyar Tom Markham he war speakin' on the
issues o' the day, an' bein' he's a frien' o' Sheriff Quigley's, he
tuk a turn at me an' you-uns, o' course. Tole the folks how my dad an'
mam died whenst I war twelve year old, an' how the only reason the
fambly warn't sent ter the pore-house war kase the county folks war
dil'tory, an' put it off, till they 'lowed our own house war pore
enough. An' then he sot out ter be mighty funny, an' mocked the way I
useter call the t'other chil'n 'Fambly,' sech ez--'Fambly, kem ter
dinner, Fambly!' 'Shet up yer cryin', Fambly!' An' then he tole how I
cooked--gathered all sorts o' yarbs an' vegetables tergether an' sot a
pot ter bile, an' whenever 'Fambly' war hongry 'Fambly' tuk a snack,
an' gracefully eat out'n the pot with thar fingers. An' sometimes
'Fambly' war moved ter wash thar clothes, an' they all repaired ter
the ruver-bank, an' rubbed out thar rags, an' hung 'em on the bushes
ter dry--an', duty done, 'Fambly' went a-wadin'. Everybody jes' laffed
an' laffed!"
There was a strained tone in his voice, not far foreign to a sob, as
he repeated these derisive flouts at his early and forlorn estate.
"An' now," resuming their rehearsal, "this enlightened constituency
was asked ter bestow on a scion o' this same 'Fambly'--ignorant,
scrub, pauper--an office of great importance to the people, that
needed to fill it a man o' eddication an' experiunce, varsed in the
ways o' the world--asked to bestow the office o' sheriff o' the county
on a man who war so obviously incomp'tent an' illit'rate that he
darsn't face the people ter make his perposterous demand!"
The wind came and went. The darkling bushes bowed and bent again. The
leaves took up their testimony in elusive, sibilant mutterings. Justus
Hoxon's eyes were cast upward for a moment, as he watched a massive
bough of an oak-tree sway against the far sky, shutting off the stars,
which became visible anew as the elastic branch swung back once more.
Only the pallor of his face and a certain lustrous liquid gleam
betokening his eyes were distinguishable to his brother, who
nevertheless watched him with anxiety and quickened breathing as he
went on:--
"That thar feller hed sca'cely stepped down off'n that thar stump
afore I war on ter it. I asked fur a few minutes' attention, an'
'lowed, I did, that Mr. Markham's account o' the humble beginnin's of
me an' 'Fambly' war accurate an' exac'. (Everybody hed looked fur me
ter deny it, or ter git mad, or suthin', an' they war toler'ble
s'prised.) 'Fambly' _did_ eat out'n the pot permiscuous, an' made a
mighty pore dinner thar many a day. An' 'Fambly' washed thar clothes
ez described, infrequent enough, an' no doubt war ez ragged an' dirty
ez they war hongry. But, I said, Mr. Markham hedn't told the haffen o'
it. Cold winter nights, when the snow sifted in through the cracks,
an' the wind blew in the rotten old door, 'Fambly' liked ter hev friz
ter death. They hed the pneumonia, an' whoopin'-cough, an' croup; an'
in summer, bein' a perverse set o' brats, 'Fambly' hed fever an' ager,
an' similar ailments common ter the young o' the human race, _the same
ez ef 'Fambly' war folks_! 'T war 'stonishin', kem ter think of it,
how 'Fambly' hed the insurance ter grow up ter _look_ like folks, let
alone settin' out ter run fur office; an' ef God hedn't raised 'em up
some mighty good frien's in this county, I reckon thar wouldn't be
much o' 'Fambly' left. Some folks 'low ez Providence hev got mighty
leetle jedgmint in worldly affairs, an' this mus' be one o' the
strikin' instances of it. These frien's gin the bigges' boy work ter
do, an' that holped ter keep 'Fambly's' bodies an' souls tergether. I
reckon, says I, that I hev ploughed in the fields o' haffen the men in
our deestric'; I hev worked in the tan-yard; I hev been striker in the
blacksmith shop; an' all the time that pot, aforesaid, b'iled at home,
an' 'Fambly' tuk thar dinner thar constant, _with_ thar fingers, _ez
aforesaid_. But 'Fambly' warn't so durned ragged, nuther. Good
neighbors gin 'em some clothes wunst in a while, an' l'arned the gals
ter sew an' cook some. An' thar kem ter be a skillet an' a fryin'-pan
on the h'a'th ter holp the pot out. Why, 'Fambly' got so prosperous
that one day, whenst a' ole, drunken, cripple, ragged man war passin',
they enj'yed themselves mightily, laffin' at somebody po'rer than
themselves. An' ole Pa'son Tyson war goin' by in his gig, an' _he_ tuk
note o' the finger o' scorn, an' he stopped. He said mighty leetle,
but he tuk the trouble ter cut a stout hickory sprout, an' he gin
'Fambly' a good thrashin' all roun'. It lasted 'Fambly' well. They
ain't laffed at 'God's pore' sence! Waal, 'Fambly' 's takin' up too
much o' this enlightened assembly's attention. Enough to tell what's
kem o' 'Fambly.' The oldes' gal went ter free school, l'arned ter
read, write, an' cipher, an' married Pa'son Tyson's son, ez air a
minister o' the gospel a-ridin' a Methodis' circuit in north Georgy
now. An' the second gal"--his voice faltered--"_she_ went ter free
school, l'arned mo' still o' readin' an' writin' an' cipherin', an'
taught school two year down on Bird Creek, an' war goin' ter be
married ter a good man, well-ter-do, who had built her a house, not
knowin' ez God hed prepared her a mansion in the skies. She is livin'
_thar_ now! An' las', the Benjamin o' all the tribe, kems my brother
Walter. _He_ went ter school; kin read, write, an' cipher; he's been
taught ez much ez any man ez ever held the office he axes ter be
'lected ter, an' air thoroughly competent. Fac' is, gentlemen, thar's
nothin' lef' ter show fur the humble 'Fambly' Mr. Markham's be'n
tellin' 'bout, but me. I never went ter school, 'ceptin' in yer
fields. I l'arned ter cure hides, an' temper steel, an' shoe
horse-critters, so that pot mought be kep' a-b'ilin', an' 'Fambly'
mought dine accordin' to thar humble way in them very humble days that
somehow, gentlemen, I ain't got an' can't git the grace ter be 'shamed
of yit."
He paused abruptly as he concluded the recital of his speech, and
wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I wisht ye could hev hearn
them men cheer. They jes' hollered tharse'fs hoarse. They shuck hands
till they mighty nigh yanked my arm out'n its socket." With the
recollection, he rubbed his right arm with a gesture of pain.
Something there was in the account of this ovation that smote upon the
younger brother's sense of values, and he hastened to take possession
of it.
"Oh, I knowed I war powerful pop'lar in the Sycamore Gap deestric',"
he said, dropping his lowering manner, that had somehow been
perceptible in the darkness, and wagging his head from side to side
with a gesture of great security in the affections of Sycamore Gap.
"Sycamore Gap's all right, I know; I'll poll a big majority thar,
sure."
"I reckon ye will; but I warn't so sure o' that at fust," replied the
elder. "They 'peared ter me at fust ter be sorter set ag'in
us--leastwise _me_, though arter a while I could hardly git away from
'em, they war so durned friendly."
Walter cast a keen look upon him; but he evidently spoke from his
simple heart, and was all unaware that he was personally the source of
this sudden popularity in Sycamore Gap--his magnetism, his unconscious
eloquence, and his character as shown in the simple and forlorn annals
of "Fambly." And yet he was not crudely unthinking. He perceived the
incongruity of his brother's successive standpoints.
"I dunno how ye kin purtend ter be so all-fired sure o' Sycamore Gap,"
he said suddenly. "'T ain't five minutes sence ye war 'lowin' ez pore
folks couldn't git 'lected ter office, an' ye wished ye hed hed
nothin' ter do with sech, an' 't war me ez bed jes' pushed an' boosted
ye inter it."
The resources of subterfuge are well-nigh limitless. Walter Hoxon was
an adept in utilizing them. He had seen a warning in the skies, and it
had struck terror and discouragement to his heart; but not to his
political prospects had he felt its application. Other schemes,
deeper, treacherous, secret, seemed menaced, and his conscience, or
that endowment to quake with the fear of requital that answers for
conscience in some ill-developed souls, was set astir. Nevertheless,
the election might suffice as scapegoat.
"Look a-yander, Justus," he said suddenly, pointing with the muzzle of
his gun at the brilliant wayfarer of the skies, as if he might in
another moment essay a shot. "That thar critter means mischief, sure
ez ye air born."
The other stepped back a pace or two, and lifted his head to look.
"The comic?" he demanded. Walter's silence seemed assent.
"Laws-a-massy, ye tomfool," Justus cried, "let it be a sign ter them
ez run ag'in' ye! Count the comic in like a qualified voter--it kem
hyar on account o' the incumbent's incompetence in office. Signs! Rolf
Quigley is sign enough,--if ye want signs in 'lections,--with money,
an' frien's, an' a term of office, an' the reg'lar nominee o' the
party, an' ye jes' an independent candidate. No star a-waggin' a tale
aroun' the sky air haffen ez dangerous ter yer 'lection ez him. An'
he ain't lookin' at no comic! He looked this evenin' like he'd put his
finger in his mouth in one more minute, plumb 'shamed ter his
boot-sole o' the things Markham hed said. An' Markham he kem up ter me
before a crowd o' fellers, an' says, says he: 'Mr. Hoxon, I meant no
reflections on yer fambly in alludin' ter its poverty, an' I honor ye
fur yer lifelong exertions in its behalf. I take pride, sir, in makin'
this apology.' An' I says: 'I be a' illit'rate, humble man, Mr.
Markham; but I will venture the liberty to tell ye ez ye mought take
mo' pride in givin' no occasion fur apologies ter poverty.' Them
fellers standin' aroun' jes' laffed. I knowed he didn't mean a word he
said then, but war jes' slickin' over the things he _hed_ said on
Quigley's account, kase the crowd seemed ter favor me. I say, comic!
Let Rolf Quigley take the comic fur a sign."
It is easy to pluck up fears that have no root. "Oh, I be goin' ter
'lectioneer all the same ez ever. Whar 's the nex' place we air bound
fur?"
Walter put his hand on his brother's shoulder as he asked the
question, and in the eager unfolding of plans and possibilities the
two, as Justus talked, made their way along the deer-path beside the
salt lick, leaving the stars coldly glittering on the ripples, with
that wonderful streak of white fire reflected among them; leaving,
too, the vaguely whispering woods, communing with the wind as it came
and went; reaching the slope of the mountain at last, where was
perched, amid sterile fields and humble garden-patch, the little cabin
in which "Fambly" had struggled through its forlorn youth to better
days.
* * * * *
The door was closed after this. A padlock knocked against it when the
wind blew, as if spuriously announcing a visitor. The deceit failed of
effect, for there was no inmate left, and the freakish gust could only
twirl the lock anew, and go swirling down the road with a rout of dust
in a witches' dance behind it. The passers-by took note of the
deserted aspect of things, and knew that the brothers were absent
electioneering, and wondered vaguely what the chances might be. This
passing was somewhat more frequent than was normal along the road; for
when the mists that had hung about the mountains persistently during a
warm, clammy, wet season had withdrawn suddenly, and one night
revealed for the first time the comet fairly ablaze in the sky, a
desire to hear what was said and known about it at the Cross-Roads and
the settlement and the blacksmith shop took possession of the
denizens of the region, and the coteries of amateur astronomers at
these centres were added to daily. Some remembered a comet or two in
past times, and if the deponent were advanced in years his hearers
were given to understand that the present luminary couldn't hold a
tallow dip to the incandescent terrors he recollected. There were
utilitarian souls who were disquieted about the crops, and anxiously
examined growing ears of corn, expecting to find the comet's influence
tucked away in the husks. Some looked for the end of the world; those
most obviously and determinedly pious took, it might seem, a certain
unfraternal joy in the contrast of their superior forethought, in
being prepared for the day of doom, with the uncovenanted estate of
the non-professor. A revival broke out at New Bethel; the number of
mourners grew in proportion as the comet got bigger night by night.
Small wonder that as evening drew slowly on, and the flaring,
assertive, red west gradually paled, and the ranges began to lose
semblance and symmetry in the dusk, and the river gloomed benighted in
the vague circuit of its course, and a lonely star slipped into the
sky, darkening, too, till, rank after rank, and phalanx after phalanx,
all the splendid armament of night had mustered, with that great,
glamourous guidon in the midst--small wonder that the ignorant
mountaineer looked up at the unaccustomed thing to mark it there, and
fear smote his heart.
At these times certain of the little sequestered households far among
the wooded ranges got them within their doors, as if to place between
them and the uncanny invader of the night, and the threatening
influences rife in the very atmosphere, all the simple habitudes of
home. The hearthstone seemed safest, the door a barrier, the home
circle a guard. Others spent the nocturnal hours in the dooryard or on
the porch, marking the march of the constellations, and filling the
time with vague speculations, or retailing dreadful rumors of strange
happenings in the neighboring coves, and wild stories of turmoil and
misfortune that comets had wrought years ago.
It was at one of these makeshift observatories that Justus Hoxon
stopped the first evening after his electioneering tour in the
interest of his brother. The weather had turned hot and fair; a
drought, a set-off to the surplusage of recent rain, was in progress;
the dooryard on the high slope of the mountain, apart from its
availability for the surveillance of any eccentric doings of the
comet, was an acceptable lounging-place for the sake of the air, the
dew, the hope of a vagrant breeze, and, more than all, the ample
"elbow-room" which it offered the rest of the family while he talked
with Theodosia Blakely. The rest of the family--unwelcome
wights!--were not disposed to make their existence obtrusive; on the
contrary, they did much to further his wishes, even to the sacrifice
of personal predilection. Mrs. Blakely, her arms befloured, her hands
in the dough, had observed him at the gate, while she stood at the
biscuit-block in the shed-room, and although pining to rush forth and
ask the latest news from the settlement and the comet, she only called
out in a husky undertone: "'Dosia, 'Dosia, yander's Justus a-kemin' in
the gate! Put on yer white apern, chile."
Because she had been adjured to put on her white apron, Theodosia did
not put it on. She advanced to the window, about which grew, with its
graceful habit, a hop-vine. A little slanting roof was above the
lintel, a mere board or so, with a few warped shingles; but it made a
gentle shadow, and Theodosia thought few men besides the one at the
gate would have failed to see her there. He lingered a little, turning
back to glance over the landscape, and then he deflected his course
toward a rough bench that was placed in a corner of the rail fence,
threw himself upon it, and fanned himself with his broad-brimmed hat.
"The insurance o' the critter! I'm a mind ter leave ye a-settin' thar
by yerse'f till ye be wore out waitin'," she muttered.
She hesitated a moment, then took her sunbonnet and went out to meet
him.
The scene was like some great painting, with this corner in the
foreground left unfinished, so minute was the detail of the distance,
so elaborate and perfect the coloring of the curves of purple, and
amethyst, and blue mountains afar off, rising in tiers about the
cup-shaped valley. Above it hung a tawny tissue of haze, surcharged
with a deeply red, vinous splendor, as if spilled from the stirrup-cup
of the departing sun. He was already out of sight, spurring along
unknown ways. The sky was yellow here and amber there, and a pearly
flake, its only cloud, glittered white in the midst. Up the hither
slope the various green of the pine and the poplar, the sycamore and
the sweet-gum, was keenly differentiated, but where the rail fence
drew the line of demarkation, Art seemed to fail.
A crude wash of ochre had apparently sufficed for the dooryard; no
weed grew here, no twig. It was tramped firm and hard by the feet of
cow, and horse, and the peripatetic children, and poultry. The cabin
was drawn in with careless angles and lines by a mere stroke or two;
and surely no painter, no builder save the utilitarian backwoodsman,
would have left it with no relief of trees behind it, no vineyard, no
garden, no orchard, no background, naught; in its gaunt simplicity and
ugliness it stood against its own ill-tended fields flattening away in
the rear.
Such as it was, however, it satisfied all of Justus Hoxon's sense of
the appropriate and the picturesque when Theodosia Blakely stepped out
from the door and came slowly to meet him. The painter's art, if she
were to be esteemed part of the foreground, might have seemed redeemed
in her. Her dress was of light blue homespun; her sunbonnet of deep
red calico, pushed back, showed her dark brown hair waving upward in
heavy undulations from her brow, her large blue eyes with their thick
black lashes, her rich brunette complexion, her delicate red lips cut
in fine lines, and the gleam of her teeth as she smiled. She had a
string of opaque white, wax-like beads around the neck of her dress,
and the contrast of the pearly whiteness of the bauble with the creamy
whiteness and softness of her throat was marked with much finish. Her
figure was hardly of medium height, and, despite the suppleness of
youth, as "plump as a partridge," according to the familiar saying.
The clear iris of her eyes gave an impression of quick shifting, and
by them one could see her mood change as she approached.
She looked at him intently, speculatively, a sort of doubtful
curiosity furtively suggested in her expression; but there was naught
subtle or covert in the gaze that met hers--naught but the frankest
pleasure and happiness. He did not move, as she advanced, nor offer
formal greeting; he only smiled, secure, content, restful, as she came
up and sat down on the end of the bench. The children, playing noisily
in the back yard on the wood-pile, paused for a moment to gaze with
callow interest at them; but the spectacle of "The'dosia's sweetheart"
was too familiar to be of more than fleeting diversion, and they
resorted once more to their pastime. Mrs. Blakely too, who with
rolling-pin in her hand had turned to gaze out of the window, went
back to rolling out the dough vigorously, with only the muttered
comment, "Wish The'dosia didn't know how much I'd like that man fur a
son-in-law, then she'd be willin' ter like him better herse'f."
He was unconscious of them all, as he leaned his elbow on the
projecting rails of the fence at their intersection close at hand.
"Hev ye hed yer health, The'dosia?" he said.
"Don't I look like it?" she replied laughingly.
There was something both of cordiality and coquetry in her manner. Her
large eyes narrowed as she laughed, and albeit they glittered between
their closing lids, the expression was not pleasant. Levity did not
become her.
"Yes, ye do," he said seriously. "Ye 'pear ter be real thrivin' an'
peart an' healthy."
His look, his words, were charged with no sort of recognition or value
of her beauty: clearly her challenge had fallen to the ground
unnoticed.
"He'd like me jes' ez well ef I war all pitted up with the smallpox,
or ez freckled ez a tur-r-key-aig," she thought, flushing with
irritation.
Beauty is jealous of preeminence, and would fain have precedence even
of love. She could take no sort of satisfaction in a captive that her
bright eyes had not shackled. Somehow this love seemed to flout, to
diminish, her attractions. It was like an accident. She could account
for his subjection on no other grounds. As she sat silent, grave
enough now and very beautiful, gazing askance and troubled upon him,
he went on:--
"I war so oneasy an' beset lest suthin' hed happened on the mounting,
whilst I war away, ter trouble you-uns or some o' yer folks. I never
hed time ter study much 'bout sech in the day, but I dreamt 'bout ye
in the night, an' _all night_,"--he laughed a little,--"all sort'n
mixed up things. I got ter be a plumb Joseph fur readin' dreams--only
I could read the same one forty diff'rent ways, an' every way made me
a leetle mo' oneasy than the t'other one. I s'pose ye hev been perlite
enough ter miss me a leetle," he concluded.
She flashed her great eyes at him with a pretended stare of surprise.
"My--no!" she exclaimed. "We-uns hev hed the comet ter keep us
comp'ny--we ain't missed nobody!"