A BATTLE AT LONG RANGE.
I was always very fond of a dog and a horse, and had a taste for
everything appertaining to these animals. Darky, as the black horse was
called, and my dog Bully, were prime favorites with me. If I bore a
divided love, it was so equally divided that I could not tell which I
liked the best. I was fond of working over the horse, the wagon, the
harnesses, and most especially I had a decided _penchant_ for a graceful
whip; but I wish to protest, in the same breath, that I never used it
upon Darky. Though I was a firm believer in corporal punishment for
vicious boys and vicious horses, I did not think he ever needed it. I
had a suspicion that Ham Fishley had never had half enough of it, owing
to the fact that he was a spoiled child. It seemed to me then that a
good opportunity had come to supply the deficiency, even if it were
administered strictly in self-defence.
When I had turned Darky, and admonished him to stand still, I saw that
Ham had picked up a club, which appeared to be a broken cart-stake. It
was necessary that I should provide for this new emergency. I glanced at
the wagon, to see if there was anything about it that would answer my
purpose. My eye fell upon the whip, which rested in the socket at the
end of the seat. It was a very elegant whip in my estimation, with a
lash long enough to drive a four-horse team. The brilliant thought
occurred to me that this whip was better than a cart-stake for my
present purpose, and I took it from its place.
I wish to say, most emphatically, in this connection, that I am not a
fighting character; but, in the present instance, I was obliged to fight
or submit to the most degrading abuse. Ham was in the act of asserting
his right, not to ask me, but to order me, in the most offensive manner,
to black his boots, or to perform other menial offices for him. I trust
that I have already proved my willingness to do my duty, and to oblige
even those whom I regarded as my enemies. Ham had made a cowardly
assault upon me, and with the club in his hand he proposed to reduce me
to what he considered a proper state of subjection.
I purposed that he should not reduce me at all. I walked towards the
place where he stood, with the whip in my hand. As I approached him he
moved towards me with his weapon thrown back in readiness to hit me. I
halted first, and then retreated a few paces, to afford me time to
disengage the lash from the handle of the whip,--I used to consider
myself very skilful with the whip,--though this may be vanity,--and I
could take a piece out of a maple leaf at twelve feet, three times out
of four, all day long. This was one of my accomplishments as a boy, and
I enjoyed the practice.
Retreating before the advance of Ham, I brought the whip smartly around
the calves of his legs, with a regular coachman's flourish. This did not
operate to cool my antagonist's temper; indeed, I am forced to confess
that this was not exactly the way to subdue his ire. I am sorry to say
that Ham used some naughty words, which politeness will not permit me
to repeat. Then he rushed forward with redoubled energy, and I gave him
another crack with the whip, which hit him in the tenderest part of his
pedestals.
I knew by his wrinkled brow that the part smarted; but, as long as it
did not cure him of the infatuation of "licking" me, I felt that he was
responsible for all consequences. He wanted to throw himself upon me
with that club, and I am satisfied that a single blow of the formidable
weapon would have smashed my head. He followed up his treatment, and I
followed up mine, keeping just out of the reach of his stick, and
lathering his legs with the hard silk snapper of my whip.
He foamed, fretted, and struggled to gain the advantage of me; but he
was mad, and I was cool, and I kept my respectful distance from him,
punishing him as rapidly as I could swing the long lash. Ham soon became
fearfully disgusted. At the rate he was subduing me, he must have felt
that it would be a long job. His patience--not very carefully
nursed--gave out at last; and, when he found that it would be
impossible for him to inflict a single blow upon me, he raised the club,
and let it fly at my head. If it had hit me there, I think the reader
would have been saved the trouble of reading my adventures "Down the
River." As it was, it struck me on the left shoulder, and I did not get
over the effects of the blow for a fortnight. But I was too proud to
show any signs of pain, or even to let him know that I had been hit.
I picked up the club, and held it in my left hand, to prevent him from
making any further use of it, leaving my right to manipulate the whip. I
felt that I had disarmed and overpowered him; but I was not yet quite
content with his frame of mind, and I continued my favorite exercise for
some time longer. I did not actually punish him any more; I only cracked
the whip in unpleasant proximity to his tender extremities. He hopped
and leaped like a Winnebago chief in the war-dance.
"Quit, Buck Bradford!" cried he, in tones of anguish.
"You have got enough of it--have you, Ham Fishley?" I replied,
suspending the exercise.
"We'll settle this another time," howled he.
"No, we won't; we'll settle it now. You began it, and I want it finished
now," I added, cracking the whip once more in the neighborhood of his
pedal extremities.
"Quit--will you!"
"I will quit when you say you have had enough of it."
"You won't hear the last of this very soon, I can tell you!"
"What are you going to do about it, Ham?"
"I'll pay you off for it yet!"
"Will you!" I continued, startling his sensibilities again with the
noise of the snapper.
"Yes, I will!" snarled he, passionately.
If the calf of his left leg had been a maple leaf at that moment, I
should have taken a piece out of it as big as a dime.
"Mind out, Buck Bradford!"
"Have you had enough?" I demanded.
"Yes, I have!"
"O, well, if you are satisfied, I am, though you are not very
good-natured about it. Next time you want to hit me over the head with
the mail-bag, just remember that when I am awake I keep my eyes open," I
replied, coiling up the lash of my whip. "When I told you I had stood
this thing long enough, I got myself ready for anything that might come.
I'm ready for anything more, and I shall be ready the next time you want
to try it on."
"You had better go along with the mail," snapped he, in a tone so like
his mother's that I could not have told who spoke if I had not seen Ham
before me.
"I made this stop to accommodate you, not myself. After what has
happened, I want to tell you once more, that I am ready to do my work
like a man, and to treat you and everybody else like gentlemen, if you
use me decently. If you know how to behave like a gentleman, I'd like to
have you try it on for a few days, just to see how it would seem. If you
will only do that, I promise you shall have no reason to complain of me.
That's all I've got to say."
"You've said enough, and you had better go along with the mail," growled
he.
I turned Darky again, very much to that knowing animal's
dissatisfaction apparently, for my singular proceedings had doubtless
impressed him with the idea that he was to escape his regular trip to
Riverport.
"Aren't you going along to Crofton's?" I called to Ham, as I got into
the wagon.
"A pretty fix I'm in to go to a party," replied he, as he glanced in
disgust at his soiled garments.
"Well, you ought to have thought of that before you began the sport," I
added, consolingly.
Ham made no reply, but fell vigorously to brushing his clothes with his
hands.
"Better come along with me, Ham," I continued, kindly; for I felt that I
could afford to be magnanimous; and I think one ought to be so, whether
he can afford it or not.
"I'm not going to Crofton's in this fix," said he.
"I can help you out, if you like, Ham. I don't bear any ill will towards
you, and just as lief do you a good turn as not," I added, taking from
the box of the wagon-seat a small hand broom, which I kept there to dust
off the cushion, and brush down the mail-bag after a dusty trip.
I jumped down from the wagon again, and moved towards him. He was shy of
me after what had happened, and retreated at my approach.
"Let me brush your clothes, Ham. I won't hurt you."
"You have brushed me about enough already," said he, shaking his head.
"What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Let me brush you, then. I wouldn't hurt you now any more than I would
my own sister."
He stood still, and I brushed and rubbed his garments till he looked as
bright and fresh as if he came out of the bureau drawer.
"There, you are all right now," I added, when I had finished the job.
"Jump into the wagon, and I will take you along to Crofton's."
"You are up to some trick, Buck," said he, suspiciously.
"No, I'm not. I'm not afraid of you. I don't hit a fellow over the head
with a mail-bag," I replied, seating myself in the wagon again.
Half a dozen "fellows and girls" were approaching from the direction of
the village; and, as Ham did not care to see company just yet, he got
into the wagon, and I drove off. He kept one eye on me all the time, and
seemed to be afraid that I intended to continue the battle by some
underhand measures.
"I am sorry this thing has happened, Ham; but I couldn't help it," I
began, after we had ridden a quarter of a mile in silence. "You pitched
in, and I had to defend myself. I hope you won't do it again."
Ham made no reply.
"Because, if you do, it will come out just as this has," I continued. "I
suppose you feel a little sore about this scrape, for you don't come out
first-best in it. You know that as well as I do. I reckon you won't want
to talk much to the fellows about it. I don't blame you for not wanting
to, Ham. But what I was going to say was this: if you don't say anything
about it, I shall not."
"I don't know what I shall do," replied he, doggedly.
"I don't, either; but, between you and me, Ham, I don't think you feel
much like bragging over it. If you don't mention it, I won't."
"I suppose you mean by that, you don't want me to say anything to the
old man about it," growled he, involuntarily putting himself in the
attitude of a conqueror, and me in that of a supplicant.
"No, Ham; that isn't what I meant. If you want to tell your father or
anybody else of it, I'm willing; but one story's good till another's
told. That's all."
Our arrival at Crofton's prevented any further consideration of the
matter. Ham leaped out of the wagon without another word, rushed through
the front gate, and disappeared, while I drove on towards Riverport.