Old Man Enright's Love.
"Son, I'm gettin' plumb alarmed about myse'f," observed the Old
Cattleman, as we drew together for our usual talk. "I've been sort
o' cog'tatin' tharof, an' I begins to allow I'm a mighty sight too
garrulous that a-way. This yere conversation habit is shore growin'
on me, an', if I don't watch out, I'm goin' to be a bigger talker
than old Vance Groggins,"
"Was Groggins a great conversationist?" I asked.
"Does this yere Vance Groggins converse? Which I wish I has stored
by a pint of licker for everythin' Vance says! It would be a long
spell before ever I'm driven to go ransackin' 'round to find one of
them life-savin' stations, called by common consent, a 's'loon!'
This Vance don't do nothin' but talk; he's got that much to say, it
gets in his way. Vance comes mighty clost to gettin' a heap the
worst of it once merely on account of them powers of commoonication.
"You see, this yere Vance is a broke-down sport, an' is dealin'
faro-bank for Jess Jenkins over on the Canadian. An' Vance jest
can't resist takin' part in every conversation that's started. Let
two gents across the layout go to exchangin' views, or swappin'
observations, an' you can gamble that Vance comes jimmin' along in.
An' Vance is allers tellin' about his brother Abe. Does a gent
mention that he brands eight hundred calves that spring round-up,
Vance cuts in with the bluff that his brother Abe brands twelve
hundred; does a sport su'gest that he sees a party win four thousand
dollars ag'in monte or roulette or faro or some sech amoosement,
Vance gets thar prompt with some ranikaboo relations of a time when
his brother Abe goes ag'inst Whitey Bob at Wichita, makes a killin'
of over sixty thousand dollars, an' breaks the bank.
"'My brother Abe,' says this yere scand'lous Vance that a-way, 'jest
nacherally wins the kyarpets off Whitey Bob's floor.'
"Son, it's simple egreegious the way this Vance carries on in them
fool rev'lations touchin' his brother Abe.
"It gets so, final, that a passel of sports lodges complaints with
Jenkins. 'What's the use!' says them maddened sports to Jenkins.
'This Vance don't deal faro-bank; he jest don't do nothin' but talk.
Thar we sets, our bets on the layout, an' we don't get no action.
This Vance won't deal a kyard for fear we don't hear about that
brother Abe Groggins of his'n.'
"Them criticisms makes Jenkins plenty quer'lous. He rounds Vance up
an' curries him a whole lot. Then he tells Vance to pull his
freight; he don't want him to deal faro-bank for him no more.
"At this, Vance turns plumb piteous, an' asks Jenkins not to throw
him loose, that a-way. An' he promises to re-organize an' alter his
system. 'I knows my failin's,' says Vance a heap mournful. 'You
don't have to come 'round tauntin' me with 'em; I'm dead onto 'em
myse'f. I'm too frank an' I'm too sociable; I'm too prone to regale
my fellow gents with leafs from my experience; an' I realize, as
well as you do, Jenk, it's wrong. Shorely, I've no right to stop in
the middle of a deal to tell a story an' force the hopes an' fears,
not to say the fortunes, of a half-dozen intense sports, an' some of
'em in the hole at that, to wait till I gets through! I know it
ain't right, Jenk; but I promises you, if you'll let me go behind
the box ag'in to-night, on the honor of a kyard sharp, you-all will
never hear a yelp outen me from soda to hock. An' that's whatever!"
"'It ain't not alone that you talks forever,' remonstrates Jenkins;
'but it's them frightful lies you tells. Which they're enough to
onsettle a gent's play, to say nothin' of runnin' the resk of
raisin' a hoodoo an' queerin' my bank. But I tries you once more,
Vance; only get it straight: So shore as ever you takes to onloadin'
on the company one of them exaggerations about that felon Abe, I
won't say "Go," I'll jest onlimber an' burn the moccasins off you
with my gun.'
"It's that very night; Vance has been dealin' the game for mighty
likely it's three hours, an' no one gets a verbal rise outen him
more'n if he's a graven image. Vance is gettin' proud of himse'f,
an' Jenkins, who comes prowlin' 'round the game at times, begins to
reckon mebby Vance'll do. All goes well ontil a party lets fly some
hyperbole about a tavern he strikes in Little Rock, which for size
an' extensif characteristics lays over anythin' on earth like a
summer's cloud.
"'You thinks so?' says Vance, stoppin' the deal, an' leanin' a elbow
on the box, while he goes projectin' towards the countenance of the
Little Rock party with the forefinger of his other hand, kind o'
claimin' his attention. 'You thinks so! I allows now you-all reckons
that for a hotel, this yere Little Rock edifice is the old he-coon!
Let me tell you somethin': My brother Abe goes out to one of them
bathin' camps, swept by ocean breezes, on the Pacific slope, an' you
should shorely oughter behold the joint he slams up! Pards, thar's
more than two thousand rooms in that wickeyup! It's 'leven hundred
an' twelve foot high, four thousand two hundred an' fifty-four foot
long, an'--' It's here pore Vance catches Jenkins' eye glarin' on
him hard an' remorseless--'an' twenty foot wide,' says Vance, a heap
hurried, dashin' the kyards outen the box. 'Five lose, jack win,'
concloodes Vance confoosedly, makin' a hasty change of subjects.
"Yes, indeed!" and the old gentleman looked thoughtfully across the
lawn as he wound up his tale of the unfortunate Groggins, "Yes,
indeed If I keeps on talkin' away, I'll become a laughin'-stock,
same as that locoed Vance! Thar's one matter that allers imbues me
with a heap of respect for deef an' dumb folks; which they shorely
do keep things to themse'fs a whole lot."
It was fifteen minutes before I could convince my friend that his
Wolfville stories in no sort diminished his dignity. Also, I
reminded him of a promise to one day tell me of Enright's one affair
of love; plainly his bond in that should be fulfilled. At last he
gave way, and after commanding the coming of a favorite and highly
refreshing beverage, held forth as follows:
"It's never been my beliefs," he said, "that Sam Enright would have
dipped into them old love concerns of his if he'd been himse'f.
Enright's sick at the time. Shore! he ain't sick to the p'int of
bein' down in his blankets, an' is still meanderin' 'round the camp
as dooty dictates or his interest calls, but he's plenty ailin' jest
the same. Thar's the roodiments of a dispoote between Doc Peets an'
Enright as to why his health that time is boggin' down. Peets puts
it up it's a over-accoomulation of alkali; Enright allows it's
because he's born so long ago. Peets has his way, however, bein' a
scientist that a-way, an' takes possession of the case.
"No, it ain't them maladies that so weakens Enright he lapses into
confidences about his early love; but you see, son, Peets stops his
nose-paint; won't let him drink so much as a drop; an' bein' cut off
short on nourishment like I says, it makes Enright--at least so I
allers figgers--some childish an' light-headed. That's right; you
remove that good old Valley Tan from the menu of a party who's been
adherin' an' referrin' to it year after year for mighty likely all
his days, an' it sort o' takes the stiffenin' outen his dignity a
lot; he begins to onbend an' wax easy an' confidenshul. Is seems
then like he goes about cravin' countenance an' support. An' down
onder my belt, it strikes me at the time, an' it shore strikes me
yet, that ravishin' the canteen from Enright, nacherally enfeebles
him an' sets him to talkin' an tellin' of past days. Oh, he don't
keep up this yere onhealthful abstinence forever. Peets declar's
Enright removed from danger, an' asks him to drink, himse'f, inside
of two weeks.
"'Where a gent,' says Peets, elab'ratin' this yere theery of not
drinkin' none, 'has been crookin' his elbow constant, an' then goes
wrong, bodily, it's a great play to stop his nose-paint abrupt. It's
a shock to him, same as a extra ace in a poker deck; an' when a
gent' is ill, shocks is what he needs.'
"'But let me savey about this,' says Dan Boggs, who's allers a heap
inquis'tive an' searchin' after knowledge; 'do you-all impose this
onwonted sobriety as a penalty, or do you make the play meedic'nal?'
Meedic'nal,' says Peets. 'In extreme cases, sobriety is plenty
cooratif.'
"Does Enright bow to Doc Peets' demands about no whiskey that a-way?
Son, Peets is plumb inex'rable about them preescriptions of his. He
looks on the mildest argyment ag'in 'em as personal affronts. Peets
is the most immov'ble sharp, medical, that ever I crosses up with;
an' when it comes to them preescriptions, the recklessest sport in
Arizona lays down his hand.
"Once I knows Peets to pass on the failin' condition of a tenderfoot
who's bunked in an' allows he'll die a lot over to the O. K.
Restauraw. Peets decides this yere shorthorn needs abstinence from
licker. Peets breaks the news to the onhappy victim, an' puts him on
water till the crisis shall be past. Also, Peets notified the Red
Light not to heed any requests of this party in respects to said
nose-paint.
"It turns out this sick person, bonin' for licker as is plumb
nacheral, forgets himse'f as a gent an' sort o' reckons he'll get
fraudulent with Peets. He figgers he'll jest come Injunin' into the
Red Light, quil himse'f about a few drinks surreptitious, an' then
go trackin' back to his blankets, an' Doc Peets none the wiser. So,
like I says, this yere ill person fronts softly up to the Red Light
bar an' calls for Valley Tan.
"Black Jack, the barkeep, don't know this party from a cross-L
steer; he gets them mandates from Peets, but it never does strike
Black Jack that this yere is the dyin' sport allooded to. In
darkness that a-way, Black Jack tosses a glass on the bar an' shoves
the bottle. It shore looks like that failin' shorthorn is goin' to
quit winner, them recooperatifs.
"But, son, he's interrupted. He's filled his glass--an' he's been
plenty free about it--an' stands thar with the bottle in his hand,
when two guns bark, an' one bullet smashes the glass an' the other
the bottle where this person is holdin' it. No, this artillery
practice don't stampede me none; I'm plumb aware it's Doc Peets'
derringers from the go-off. Peets stands in the door, one of his
little pup-guns in each hand.
"'Which I likes your aplomb!' says Black Jack to Peets, as he swabs
off the bar in a peevish way. 'I makes it my boast that I'm the
best-nachered barkeep between the Colorado an' the Rio Grande, an'
yet I'm free to confess, sech plays chafes me. May I ask,' an' Black
Jack stops wipin' the bar an' turns on Peets plumb p'lite, 'what
your idee is in thus shootin' your way into a commercial affair in
which you has no interest?'
"'This ycre bibulous person is my patient,' says Peets, a heap
haughty. 'I preescribes no licker; an' them preescriptions is goin'
to be filled, you bet! if I has to fill 'em with a gun. Whatever do
you-all reckon a medical practitioner is? Do you figger he's a
Mexican, an' that his diagnosises, that a-way, don't go? I notifies
you this mornin' as I stands yere gettin' my third drink, that if
this outcast comes trackin' in with demands for nose-paint, to
remember he's sick an' throw him out on his head. An' yere's how I'm
obeyed!'
"Which, of course, this explains things to Black Jack, an' he sees
his inadvertences. He comes out from behind the bar to where this
sick maverick has done fainted in the confoosion, an' collars him
an' sets him on a char.
"'Doc,' says Black Jack, when he's got the wilted gent planted firm
an' safe, 'I tenders my regrets. Havin' neither brands nor
y'earmarks to guide by, I never recognizes this person as your
invalid at all; none whatever. I'd shore bent a gun on him an'
harassed him back into his lair, as you requests, if I suspects his
identity. To show I'm on the squar', Doc, I'll do this party any
voylence, even at this late hour, which you think will make amends.'
"'Your apol'gy is accepted,' says Peets, but still haughty; 'I
descerns how you gets maladroit through errors over which you has no
control. As to this person, who's so full of stealthy cunnin', he's
all right. So long as he don't get no licker, no voylence is called
for in his case.' An' with that Peets conducts his patient, who's
come to ag'in, back to his reservation.
"But I onbuckles this afternoon to tell you-all about Old Man
Enright's early love, an' if I aims to make the trip before the moon
comes up, I better hit the trail of them reminiscences an' no
further delays.
"It's in the back room of the New York Store where the casks be, an'
Enright, on whose nerves an' sperits Peets' preescriptions of 'no
licker' has been feedin' for two full days, sits thar sort o'
fidgin' with his fingers an' movin' his feet in a way which shows
he's a heap on aige. Thar's a melancholy settles on us all, as we
camps 'round on crates an' shoe boxes an' silently sympathizes with
Enright to see him so redooced. At last the grand old chief starts
in to talk without questions or requests.
"'If you-all don't mind,' says Enright, 'I'll let go a handful of
mem'ries touchin' my yooth. Thar's nothin' like maladies to make a
gent sentimental, onless it be gettin' shot up or cut up with
bullets or bowies; an' these yere visitations, which Peets thinks is
alkali an' I holds is the burdens of them years of mine, shore
leaves me plumb romantic.
'Which I've been thinkin' all day, between times when I'm thinkin'
of licker, of Polly Hawks; an' I'll say right yere she's my first
an' only love. She's a fine young female, is Polly--tall as a
saplin', with a arm on her like a cant-hook. Polly can lift an' hang
up a side of beef, an' is as good as two hands at a log-rollin'.
"'This yere's back in old Tennessee on the banks of the Cumberland.
It's about six years followin' on the Mexican war, an' I'm shot
up'ards into the semblances of a man. My affections for Polly has
their beginnin's in a coon-hunt into which b'ars an' dogs gets
commingled in painful profoosion.
"'I ain't the wonder of a week with a rifle now, since I'm old an'
dim, but them times on the Cumberland I has fame as sech. More'n
once, ag'inst the best there is in either the Cumberland or the
Tennessee bottoms, or on the ridge between, I've won as good as, say
first, second and fifth quarters in a shoot for the beef.'
"'Whatever do you-all call a fifth quarter of beef?' asks Dan Boggs.
'Four quarters is all I'm ever able to count to the anamile.'
"'It's yooth an' inexperience,' says Enright, 'that prompts them
queries. The fifth quarter is the hide an' tallow; an' also thar's a
sixth quarter, the same bein' the bullets in the stump which makes
the target, an' which is dug out a whole lot, lead bein' plenty
infrequent in them days I'm dreamin' of.
"'As I'm sayin', when Dan lams loose them thick head questions, I'm
a renowned shot, an' my weakness is huntin' b'ars. I finds 'em an'
kills 'em that easy, I thinks thar's nothin' in the world but b'ars.
An' when I ain't huntin' b'ars, I'm layin' for deer; an' when I
ain't layin' for deer, I'm squawkin' turkeys; an' when I ain't
squawkin' turkeys, I'm out nights with a passel of misfit dogs I
harbors, a shakin' up the scenery for raccoons. Altogether, I'm some
busy as you-all may well infer.
"'One night I'm coon huntin'. The dogs trees over on Rapid Run. When
I arrives, the whole pack is cirkled 'round the base of a big beech,
singin'; my old Andrew Jackson dog leadin' the choir with the air,
an' my Thomas Benton dog growlin' bass, while the others warbles
what parts they will, indiscrim'nate.
"'Nacherally, the dogs can't climb the tree none, an' I has to make
that play myse'f. I lays down my gun, an' shucks my belts an' knife,
an' goes swarmin' up the beech. It's shorely a teedious enterprise,
an' some rough besides. That beech seems as full of spikes an'
thorns as a honey locust--its a sort o' porkypine of a tree.
"'Which I works my lacerated way into the lower branches, an' then,
glances up ag'in the firmaments to locate the coon. He ain't vis'ble
none; he's higher up an' the leaves an' bresh hides him. I goes on
till I'm twenty foot from the ground; then I looks up ag'in,
"'Gents, it ain't no coon; it's a b'ar, black as paint an' as big as
a baggage wagon. He ain't two foot above me too; an' the sight of
him, settin' thar like a black bale of cotton, an' his nearness, an'
partic'larly a few terse remarks he lets drop, comes mighty clost to
astonishin' me to death. I thinks of my gun; an' then I lets go all
bolts to go an' get it. Shore, I falls outen the tree; thar ain't no
time to descend slow an' dignified.
"'As I comes crashin' along through them beech boughs, it inculcates
a misonderstandin' among the dogs. Andrew Jackson, Thomas Benton an'
the others is convoked about that tree on a purely coon theery. They
expects me to knock the coon down to 'em. They shorely do not expect
me to come tumblin' none myse'f. It tharfore befalls that when I
makes my deboo among 'em, them canines, blinded an' besotted as I
say with thoughts of coon, prounces upon me in a body. Every dog
rends off a speciment of me. They don't bite twice; they perceives
by the taste that it ain't no coon an' desists.
"'Which I don't reckon their worryin' me would have become a
continyoous performance nohow; for me an' the dogs is hardly tangled
up that a-way, when we're interfered with by the b'ar. Looks like
the example I sets is infectious; for when I lets go, the b'ar lets
go; an' I hardly hits the ground an' becomes the ragin' center of
interest to Andrew Jackson, Thomas Benton an' them others, when the
b'ar is down on all of us like the old Cumberland on a sandbar
doorin' a spring rise. I shore regyards his advent that a-way as the
day of jedgment.
"'No, we don't corral him. The b'ar simply r'ars back long enough to
put Andrew Jackson an' Thomas Benton into mournin', an' then goes
scuttlin' off through the bushes like the grace of heaven through a
camp-meetin'. As for myse'f, I lays thar; an' what between dog an'
b'ar an' the fall I gets, I'm as completely a thing of the past as
ever finds refooge in that strip of timber. As near as I makes out
by feelin' of myse'f, I ain't fit to make gourds out of. Of course,
she's a mistake on the part of the dogs, an' plumb accidental as far
as the b'ar's concerned; but it shore crumples me up as entirely as
if this yere outfit of anamiles plots the play for a month.
"'With the last flicker of my failin' strength, I crawls to my old
gent's teepee an' is took in. An' you shore should have heard the
language of that household when they sees the full an' awful extent
them dogs an' that b'ar lays me waste. Which I'm layed up eight
weeks.
"'My old gent goes grumblin' off in the mornin', an' rounds up old
Aunt Tilly Hawks to nurse me. Old Aunt Tilly lives over on the
Painted Post, an' is plumb learned in yarbs an' sech as Injun
turnips, opydeldock, live-forever, skoke-berry roots, jinson an'
whitewood bark. An' so they ropes up Aunt Tilly Hawks an' tells her
to ride herd on my wounds an' dislocations.
"'But I'm plumb weak an' nervous an' can't stand Aunt Tilly none.
She ain't got no upper teeth, same as a cow, her face is wrinkled
like a burnt boot, an' she dips snuff. Moreover, she gives me the
horrors by allers singin' in a quaverin' way
"'Hark from the tombs a doleful sound,
Mine y'ears attend the cry.
Ye livin' men come view the ground
Where you shall shortly lie.
"'Aunt Tilly sounds a heap like a tea-kettle when she's renderin'
this yere madrigal, an' that, an' the words, an' all the rest, makes
me gloomy an' dejected. I'm shore pinin' away onder these yere
malign inflooences, when my old gent notes I ain't recooperatin',
an' so he guesses the cause; an' with that he gives Aunt Tilly a
lay-off, an' tells her to send along her niece Polly to take her
place,
"'Thar's a encouragin' difference. Polly is big an' strong like I
states; but her eyes is like stars, an' she's as full of sweetness
as a bee tree or a bar'l of m'lasses. So Polly camps down by my
couch of pain an' begins dallyin' soothin'ly with my heated brow. I
commences recoverin' from them attacks of b'ars an' dogs instanter.
"'This yere Polly Hawks ain't none new to me. I never co'ts her; but
I meets her frequent at barn raisin's an' quiltin's, which allers
winds up in a dance; an' in them games an' merriments, sech as
"bowin' to the wittiest, kneelin' to the prettiest, an' kissin' the
one you loves the best," I more than once regyards Polly as an
alloorin' form of hooman hollyhock, an' selects her. But thar's no
flush of burnin' love; nothin' nore than them amiable formalities
which befits the o'casion.
"'While this yere Polly is nursin' me, however, she takes on a
different attitoode a whole lot. It looks like I begins to need her
permanent, an' every time I sets my eyes on her I feels as soft as
b'ar's grease. It's shorely love; that Polly Hawks is as sweet an'
luscious as a roast apple.'
"'Is she for troo so lovely?' asks Faro Nell, who's been hangin'
onto Enright's words.
"'Frankly, Nellie,' says Enright, sort o' pinchin' down his bluff;
'now that I'm ca'mer an' my blood is cool, this yere Polly don't
seem so plumb prismatic. Still, I must say, she's plenty radiant.'
"'Does you-all,' says Dan Boggs, 'put this yere Polly in nom'nation
to be your wife while you're quiled up sick? '
"'No, I defers them offers to moments when I'm more robust,' says
Enright.
"'You shore oughter rode at her while you're sick that a-way,'
remonstrates Boggs. 'That's the time to set your stack down. Females
is easy moved to pity, an', as I've heared--for I've nothin' to go
by, personal, since I'm never married an' is never sick none--is a
heap more prone to wed a gent who's sick, than when he's well a
lot.'
"'I holds them doctrines myse'f,' observes Enright; 'however, I
don't descend on Polly with no prop'sitions, neither then nor final,
as you-all shall hear, Dan, if you'll only hold yourse'f down. No, I
continyoos on lovin' Polly to myse'f that a-way, ontil I'm able to
go pokin' about on crutches; an' then, as thar's no more need of her
ministrations, Polly lines out for old Aunt Tilly's cabin ag'in.
"'It's at this yere juncture things happens which sort o'
complicates then dreams of mine. While I ain't been sayin' nothin',
an' has been plumb reticent as to my feelin's, jest the same, by
look or act, or mebby it's a sigh, I tips off my hand. It ain't no
time before all the neighbors is aware of my love for Polly Hawks.
Also, this Polly has a lover who it looks like has been co'tin' her,
an' bringin' her mink pelts an' wild turkeys indeescrim'nate, for
months. I never do hear of this gent ontil I'm cripplin' 'round on
them stilts of crutches; an' then I ain't informed of him none only
after he's informed of me.
"'Thar's a measley little limberjaw of a party whose name is Ike
Sparks; this Ike is allers runnin' about tellin' things an' settin'
traps to capture trouble for other folks. Ike is a ornery anamile--
little an' furtif--mean enough to suck aigs, an' cunnin' enough to
hide the shells. He hates everybody, this Ike does; an' he's as
suspicious as Bill Johnson's dog, which last is that doubtful an'
suspicious he shore walks sideways all his life for fear someone's
goin' to kick him. This low-down Ike imparts to Polly's other lover
about the state of my feelin's; an' then it ain't no time when I
gets notice of this sport's existence.
"'It's in the licker room of the tavern at Pine Knot, to which
scenes I've scrambled on them crutches one evenin', where this party
first meets up with me in person. He's a big, tall citizen with
lanky, long ha'r, an' is dressed in a blanket huntin' shirt an' has
a coon-skin cap with the tail hangin' over his left y'ear. Also, he
packs a Hawkins rifle, bullets about forty to the pound. For myse'f,
I don't get entranced none with this person's looks, an' as I ain't
fit, physical, for no skrimmage, I has to sing plumb low.
"'Thar's a band of us settin' 'round when this lover of Polly's
shows in the door, drinkin' an' warblin' that entertainin' ditty,
which goes:"
"'"Thar sits a dog, by a barn door,
An' Bingo is his name, O!
An' Bingo is his name."
"'As Polly's other beau comes in, we ceases this refrain. He pitches
his rifle to the landlord over the bar, an' calls for a Baldface
whiskey toddy. He takes four or five drinks, contemplatin' us
meanwhile a heap disdainful. Then he arches his back, bends his
elbows, begins a war-song, an' goes dancin' stiff-laig like a Injun,
in front of the bar. This is how this extravagant party sings. It's
what Colonel Sterett, yere, to whom I repeats it former, calls
"blanket verse."
"'"Let all the sons of men b'ar witness!" sings this gent, as he
goes skatin' stiff-laig about in a ring like I relates, arms bent,
an' back arched; "let all the sons of men b'ar witness; an'
speshully let a cowerin' varmint, named Sam Enright, size me up an'
shudder! I'm the maker of deserts an' the wall-eyed harbinger of
desolation! I'm kin to rattlesnakes on my mother's side; I'm king of
all the eagles an' full brother to the b'ars! I'm the bloo-eyed lynx
of Whiskey Crossin', an' I weighs four thousand pounds! I'm a he-
steamboat; I've put a crimp in a cat-a-mount with nothin' but my
livin' hands! I broke a full-grown allagator across my knee, tore
him asunder an' showered his shrinkin' fragments over a full section
of land! I hugged a cinnamon b'ar to death, an' made a grizzly plead
for mercy! Who'll come gouge with me? Who'll come bite with me?
Who'll come put his knuckles in my back? I'm Weasel-eye, the dead
shot; I'm the blood-drinkin', skelp-t'arin', knife-plyin' demon of
Sunflower Creek! The flash of my glance will deaden a whiteoak, an'
my screech in anger will back the panther plumb off his natif heath!
I'm a slayer an' a slaughterer, an' I cooks an' eats my dead! I can
wade the Cumberland without wettin' myse'f, an' I drinks outen the
spring without touchin' the ground! I'm a swinge-cat; but I warns
you not to be misled by my looks! I'm a flyin' bison, an'
deevastation rides upon my breath! Whoop! whoop! whoopee! I'm the
Purple Blossom of Gingham Mountain, an' where is that son of thunder
who'll try an' nip me in the bud! Whoop! whoopee! I'm yere to fight
or drink with any sport; any one or both! Whoopee! Where is the
stately stag to stamp his hoof or rap his antlers to my
proclamations! Where is that boundin' buck! Whoopee! whoop! whoop!"
"'Then this yere vociferous Purple Blossom pauses for breath; but
keeps up his stilt-laig dance, considerin' me meanwhile with his
eye, plenty baleful. We-all on our parts is viewin' him over a heap
respectful, an' ain't retortin' a word. Then he begins ag'in with a
yelp that would stampede a field of corn.
"'"Who is thar lovelier than Polly Hawks!" he shouts. "Show me the
female more entrancin', an' let me drop dead at her feet! Who is
lovelier than Polly Hawks, the sweetheart of Flyin' Bison, the
onchained tornado of the hills! Feast your gaze on Polly Hawks; her
beauty would melt the heart of Nacher! I'm the Purple Blossom of
Gingham Mountain; Polly Hawks shall marry an' follow me to my
wigwam! Her bed shall be of b'ar-skins; her food shall be yearlin'
venison, an' wild honey from the tree! Her gown shall be panther's
pelts fringed 'round with wolf-tails an' eagles' claws! She shall
belt herse'f with a rattlesnake, an' her Sunday bonnet shall be a
swarm of bees! When I kiss her it sounds like the crack of a whip,
an' I wouldn't part with her for twenty cows! We will wed an'
pop'late the earth with terror! Where is the sooicide who'll stand
in my way?"
"'At this p'int the Purple Blossom leaves off dancin' an' fronts up
to me, personal.
"'"Whoopee!" he says; "say that you don't love the girl an' I'll
give you one hundred dollars before I spills your life!"
"'Which, of course, all these yere moosical an' terpshicoreen
preeliminaries means simply so much war between me an' this sperited
beau of Polly's, to see who'll own the lady's heart. I explains that
I'm not jest then fit for combat, sufferin' as I be from that
overabundance of dog an' b'ar. The Purple Blossom is plumb p'lite,
an' says he don't hunger to whip no cripples. Then he names a day
two months away when he allows he'll shore descend from Gingham
Mountain, melt me down an' run me into candles to burn at the
weddin' of him an' Polly Hawks. Then we drinks together, all
fraternal, an' he gives me a chew of tobacco outen a box, made of
the head of a bald eagle, in token of amity, that a-way.
"'But that rumpus between the Purple Blossom an' me never does come
off; an' them rites over me an' Polly is indef'nitely postponed. The
fact is, I has to leave a lot. I starts out to commit a joke, an' it
turns out a crime; an' so I goes streakin' it from the scenes of my
yoothful frolics for safer stampin' grounds.
"'It's mebby six weeks followin' them declarations of the Purple
Blossom. It's co't day at War-whoop Crossin', an' the Jedge an'
every law-sharp on that circuit comes trailin' into camp. This yere
outfit of Warwhoop is speshul fretful ag'inst all forms of gamblin'.
Wherefore the Jedge, an' the state's attorney, an' mebby five other
speculators, at night adjourns to the cabin of a flat-boat which is
tied up at the foot of the levee, so's they can divert themse'fs
with a little draw-poker without shockin' the hamlet an' gettin'
themse'fs arrested an' fined some.
"'It's gone to about fourth drink time after supper, an' I'm
romancin' about, tryin' to figger out how I'm to win Polly, when as
I'm waltzin' along the levee--I'm plumb alone, an' the town itse'f
has turned into its blankets--I gets sight of this yere poker
festival ragin' in the cabin. Thar they be, antein', goin' it blind,
straddlin', raisin' before the draw, bluffin', an' bettin', an'
havin' the time of their c'reers.
"'It's the spring flood, an' the old Cumberland is bank-full an'
still a-risin'. The flat boat is softly raisin' an' fallin' on the
sobbin' tide. It's then them jocular impulses seizes me, that a-way;
an' I stoops an' casts off her one line, an' that flat boat swims
silently away on the bosom of the river. The sports inside knows
nothin' an' guesses less, an' their gayety swells on without a
hitch.
"'It's three o'clock an' Jedge Finn, who's won about a hundred an'
sixty dollars, realizes it's all the money in the outfit, an' gets
cold feet plenty prompt. He murmurs somethin' about tellin' the old
lady Finn he'd be in early, an' shoves back amidst the scoffs an'
jeers of the losers. But the good old Jedge don't mind, an' openin'
the door, he goes out into the night an' the dark, an' carefully
picks his way overboard into forty foot of water. The yell the Jedge
emits as he makes his little hole in the Cumberland is the first
news them kyard sharps gets that they're afloat a whole lot.
"'It ain't no push-over rescooin' Jedge Finn that time. The one
hundred an' sixty is in Mexican money, an' he's got a pound or two
of it sinkered about his old frame in every pocket; so he goes to
the bottom like a kag of nails.
"'But they works hard, an' at last fishes him out, an' rolls him
over a bar'l to get the water an' the money outen him. Which onder
sech treatment, the Jedge disgorges both, an' at last comes to a
trifle an' is fed whiskey with a spoon.
"'Havin' saved the Jedge, the others turns loose a volley of yells
that shorely scares up them echoes far an' wide. It wakes up a
little old tug that's tied in Dead Nigger Bend, an' she fires up an'
pushes forth to their relief. The tug hauls 'em back to Warwhoop for
seventy dollars, which is paid out of the rescooed treasure of Jedge
Finn, the same bein' declar'd salvage by them bandits he's been
playin' with.
"'It's two o'clock in the afternoon when that band of gamblers pulls
up ag'in at Warwhoop, an' they're shorely a saddened party as they
files ashore. The village is thar in a frownin' an' resentful body
to arrest 'em for them voylations, which is accordin' done.
"'At the same time, I regyards the play as the funniest, ondoubted,
that's ever been evolved in Tennessee; but my mood changes as
subsequent events assoomes a somber face. Old Jedge Finn goes fumin'
about like a wronged lion, an' the rest is as hot as election day in
a hornet's nest. Pards, I'm a Mexican! if they don't indict me for
piracy on the high seas, an' pledge their words to see me hanged
before ever co't adjourns.
"'That lets me out, right thar! I sees the symptoms of my
onpop'larity in advance, an' don't procrastinate none. I goes
sailin' over the divide to the Tennessee, down the Tennessee to the
Ohio, down the Ohio to the Mississippi, down the Mississippi to the
Arkansaw, up the Arkansaw to Little Rock; an' thar I pauses,
exhausted shore, but safe as a murderer in Georgia. Which I never
does go back for plumb ten years.
"'Nacherally, because of this yere exodus, I misses my engagements
with the Purple Blossom; also them nuptials I plots about Polly
Hawks, suffers the kybosh a whole lot. However, I survives, an'
Polly survives; she an' the Purple Blossom hooks up a month later,
an' I learns since they shore has offsprings enough to pack a
primary or start a public school. It's all over long ago, an' I'm
glad the kyards falls as they do. Still, as I intimates, thar's them
moments of romance to ride me down, when I remembers my one lone
love affair with Polly Hawks, the beauty of the Painted Post.'
"Enright pauses, an' we-all sets still a moment out of respects to
the old chief. At last Dan Boggs, who's always bubblin' that a-way,
speaks up:
"'Which I'm shore sorry,' says Dan, 'you don't fetch the moosic of
that Purple Blossom's war-song West. I deems that a mighty excellent
lay, an' would admire to learn it an' sing it some myse'f. I'd shore
go over an' carol it to Red Dog; it would redooce them drunkards to
frenzy."'