Behind us came the Hon. Samuel Budd. Just when the sun was slitting the
east with a long streak of fire, the Hon. Samuel was, with the jocund
day, standing tiptoe in his stirrups on the misty mountain top and
peering into the ravine down which we had slid the night before, and he
grumbled no little when he saw that he, too, must get off his horse
and slide down. The Hon. Samuel was ambitious, Southern, and a lawyer.
Without saying, it goes that he was also a politician. He was not a
native of the mountains, but he had cast his fortunes in the highlands,
and he was taking the first step that he hoped would, before many
years, land him in the National Capitol. He really knew little about the
mountaineers, even now, and he had never been among his constituents on
Devil's Fork, where he was bound now. The campaign had so far been full
of humor and full of trials--not the least of which sprang from the fact
that it was sorghum time. Everybody through the mountains was making
sorghum, and every mountain child was eating molasses.
Now, as the world knows, the straightest way to the heart of the honest
voter is through the women of the land, and the straightest way to the
heart of the women is through the children of the land; and one method
of winning both, with rural politicians, is to kiss the babies wide and
far. So as each infant, at sorghum time, has a circle of green-brown
stickiness about his chubby lips, and as the Hon. Sam was averse to
“long sweetenin'” even in his coffee, this particular political device
just now was no small trial to the Hon. Samuel Budd. But in the language
of one of his firmest supporters Uncle Tommie Hendricks:
“The Hon. Sam done his duty, and he done it damn well.”
The issue at stake was the site of the new Court-House--two localities
claiming the right undisputed, because they were the only two places
in the county where there was enough level land for the Court-House
to stand on. Let no man think this a trivial issue. There had been a
similar one over on the Virginia side once, and the opposing factions
agreed to decide the question by the ancient wager of battle, fist and
skull--two hundred men on each side--and the women of the county with
difficulty prevented the fight. Just now, Mr. Budd was on his way to
“The Pocket”--the voting place of one faction--where he had never been,
where the hostility against him was most bitter, and, that day, he knew
he was “up against” Waterloo, the crossing of the Rubicon, holding the
pass at Thermopylae, or any other historical crisis in the history of
man. I was saddling the mules when the cackling of geese in the creek
announced the coming of the Hon. Samuel Budd, coming with his chin on
his breast-deep in thought. Still his eyes beamed cheerily, he lifted
his slouched hat gallantly to the Blight and the little sister, and he
would wait for us to jog along with him. I told him of our troubles,
meanwhile. The Wild Dog had restored our mules and the Hon. Sam beamed:
“He's a wonder--where is he?”
“He never waited--even for thanks.”
Again the Hon. Sam beamed:
“Ah! just like him. He's gone ahead to help me.”
“Well, how did he happen to be here?” I asked.
“He's everywhere,” said the Hon. Sam.
“How did he know the mules were ours?”
“Easy. That boy knows everything.”
“Well, why did he bring them back and then leave so mysteriously?”
The Hon. Sam silently pointed a finger at the laughing Blight ahead, and
I looked incredulous.
“Just the same, that's another reason I told you to warn Marston. He's
already got it in his head that Marston is his rival.”
“Pshaw!” I said--for it was too ridiculous.
“All right,” said the Hon. Sam placidly.
“Then why doesn't he want to see her?” “How do you know he ain't
watchin' her now, for all we know? Mark me,” he added, “you won't see
him at the speakin', but I'll bet fruit cake agin gingerbread he'll be
somewhere around.”
So we went on, the two girls leading the way and the Hon. Sam now
telling his political troubles to me. Half a mile down the road, a
solitary horseman stood waiting, and Mr. Budd gave a low whistle.
“One o' my rivals,” he said, from the corner of his mouth.
“Mornin',” said the horseman; “lemme see you a minute.”
He made a movement to draw aside, but the Hon. Samuel made a
counter-gesture of dissent.
“This gentleman is a friend of mine,” he said firmly, but with great
courtesy, “and he can hear what you have to say to me.”
The mountaineer rubbed one huge hand over his stubbly chin, threw one of
his long legs over the pommel of his saddle, and dangled a heavy cowhide
shoe to and fro.
“Would you mind tellin' me whut pay a member of the House of Legislatur'
gits a day?”
The Hon. Sam looked surprised.
“I think about two dollars and a half.”
“An' his meals?”
“No!” laughed Mr. Budd.
“Well, look-ee here, stranger. I'm a pore man an' I've got a mortgage
on my farm. That money don't mean nothin' to you--but if you'll draw out
now an' I win, I'll tell ye whut I'll do.” He paused as though to make
sure that the sacrifice was possible. “I'll just give ye half of that
two dollars and a half a day, as shore as you're a-settin' on that hoss,
and you won't hav' to hit a durn lick to earn it.”
I had not the heart to smile--nor did the Hon. Samuel--so artless and
simple was the man and so pathetic his appeal.
“You see--you'll divide my vote, an' ef we both run, ole Josh Barton'll
git it shore. Ef you git out o' the way, I can lick him easy.”
Mr. Budd's answer was kind, instructive, and uplifted.
“My friend,” said he, “I'm sorry, but I cannot possibly accede to your
request for the following reasons: First, it would not be fair to my
constituents; secondly, it would hardly be seeming to barter the noble
gift of the people to which we both aspire; thirdly, you might lose with
me out of the way; and fourthly, I'm going to win whether you are in the
way or not.”
The horseman slowly collapsed while the Hon. Samuel was talking, and
now he threw the leg back, kicked for his stirrup twice, spat once, and
turned his horse's head.
“I reckon you will, stranger,” he said sadly, “with that gift o' gab
o' yourn.” He turned without another word or nod of good-by and started
back up the creek whence he had come.
“One gone,” said the Hon. Samuel Budd grimly, “and I swear I'm right
sorry for him.” And so was I.
An hour later we struck the river, and another hour upstream brought
us to where the contest of tongues was to come about. No sylvan dell
in Arcady could have been lovelier than the spot. Above the road, a big
spring poured a clear little stream over shining pebbles into the river;
above it the bushes hung thick with autumn leaves, and above them stood
yellow beeches like pillars of pale fire. On both sides of the road sat
and squatted the honest voters, sour-looking, disgruntled--a distinctly
hostile crowd. The Blight and my little sister drew great and curious
attention as they sat on a bowlder above the spring while I went with
the Hon. Samuel Budd under the guidance of Uncle Tommie Hendricks, who
introduced him right and left. The Hon. Samuel was cheery, but he was
plainly nervous. There were two lanky youths whose names, oddly enough,
were Budd. As they gave him their huge paws in lifeless fashion, the
Hon. Samuel slapped one on the shoulder, with the true democracy of the
politician, and said jocosely:
“Well, we Budds may not be what you call great people, but, thank God,
none of us have ever been in the penitentiary,” and he laughed loudly,
thinking that he had scored a great and jolly point. The two young men
looked exceedingly grave and Uncle Tommie panic-stricken. He plucked the
Hon. Sam by the sleeve and led him aside:
“I reckon you made a leetle mistake thar. Them two fellers' daddy died
in the penitentiary last spring.” The Hon. Sam whistled mournfully,
but he looked game enough when his opponent rose to speak--Uncle Josh
Barton, who had short, thick, upright hair, little sharp eyes, and a
rasping voice. Uncle Josh wasted no time:
“Feller-citizens,” he shouted, “this man is a lawyer--he's a corporation
lawyer”; the fearful name--pronounced “lie-yer”--rang through the crowd
like a trumpet, and like lightning the Hon. Sam was on his feet.
“The man who says that is a liar,” he said calmly, “and I demand your
authority for the statement. If you won't give it--I shall hold you
personally responsible, sir.”
It was a strike home, and under the flashing eyes that stared
unwaveringly, through the big goggles, Uncle Josh halted and stammered
and admitted that he might have been misinformed.
“Then I advise you to be more careful,” cautioned the Hon. Samuel
sharply.
“Feller-citizens,” said Uncle Josh, “if he ain't a corporation
lawyer--who is this man? Where did he come from? I have been born and
raised among you. You all know me--do you know him? Whut's he a-doin'
now? He's a fine-haired furriner, an' he's come down hyeh from the
settlemints to tell ye that you hain't got no man in yo' own deestrict
that's fittin' to represent ye in the legislatur'. Look at him--look at
him! He's got FOUR eyes! Look at his hair--hit's PARTED IN THE MIDDLE!”
There was a storm of laughter--Uncle Josh had made good--and if the Hon.
Samuel could straightway have turned bald-headed and sightless, he
would have been a happy man. He looked sick with hopelessness, but Uncle
Tommie Hendricks, his mentor, was vigorously whispering something in
his ear, and gradually his face cleared. Indeed, the Hon. Samuel was
smilingly confident when he rose.
Like his rival, he stood in the open road, and the sun beat down on his
parted yellow hair, so that the eyes of all could see, and the laughter
was still running round.
“Who is your Uncle Josh?” he asked with threatening mildness. “I know
I was not born here, but, my friends, I couldn't help that. And just
as soon as I could get away from where I was born, I came here and,”
he paused with lips parted and long finger outstretched,
“and--I--came--because--I WANTED--to come--and NOT because I HAD TO.”
Now it seems that Uncle Josh, too, was not a native and that he had left
home early in life for his State's good and for his own. Uncle Tommie
had whispered this, and the Hon. Samuel raised himself high on both toes
while the expectant crowd, on the verge of a roar, waited--as did Uncle
Joshua, with a sickly smile.
“Why did your Uncle Josh come among you? Because he was hoop-poled away
from home.” Then came the roar--and the Hon. Samuel had to quell it with
uplifted hand.
“And did your Uncle Joshua marry a mountain wife? No I He didn't think
any of your mountain women were good enough for him, so he slips down
into the settlemints and STEALS one. And now, fellow-citizens, that is
just what I'm here for--I'm looking for a nice mountain girl, and I'm
going to have her.” Again the Hon. Samuel had to still the roar, and
then he went on quietly to show how they must lose the Court-House site
if they did not send him to the legislature, and how, while they might
not get it if they did send him, it was their only hope to send only
him. The crowd had grown somewhat hostile again, and it was after one
telling period, when the Hon. Samuel stopped to mop his brow, that a
gigantic mountaineer rose in the rear of the crowd:
“Talk on, stranger; you're talking sense. I'll trust ye. You've got big
ears!”
Now the Hon. Samuel possessed a primordial talent that is rather rare in
these physically degenerate days. He said nothing, but stood quietly in
the middle of the road. The eyes of the crowd on either side of the road
began to bulge, the lips of all opened with wonder, and a simultaneous
burst of laughter rose around the Hon. Samuel Budd. A dozen men sprang
to their feet and rushed up to him--looking at those remarkable ears, as
they gravely wagged to and fro. That settled things, and as we left,
the Hon. Sam was having things his own way, and on the edge of the crowd
Uncle Tommie Hendricks was shaking his head:
“I tell ye, boys, he ain't no jackass even if he can flop his ears.”
At the river we started upstream, and some impulse made me turn in my
saddle and look back. All the time I had had an eye open for the young
mountaineer whose interest in us seemed to be so keen. And now I saw,
standing at the head of a gray horse, on the edge of the crowd, a tall
figure with his hands on his hips and looking after us. I couldn't be
sure, but it looked like the Wild Dog.