A TRIP NOT WITHOUT INCIDENT.
With a few silver dollars in her pocket, chinking against the steel of
her pistol, Margaret jogged along the road. In observation the
mountaineer is always minute; each day is a volume unto itself, and in
this book abound many pictures. In a thorn-bush the old woman saw a
mocking-bird feeding her young; in the dust she saw where a snake had
smoothed his way across the road. She halted to look at a bare-legged
boy, who with his straw hat was seining a rivulet.
Telling the time by the sun, she dismounted at noon and in the shade of
a wild plum thicket, ate her luncheon, while the mare cropped the sweet
road-side grass. But it was not intended that her journey should be
without event. Along toward four o'clock she came to a bridge across a
small stream. The planks were worn with heavy hauling--the whole thing
dangerous, and into a hole the mare's foot sank. She floundered, fell,
and when Margaret, unhurt, arose out of the dust, she saw with horror
that the poor creature's leg was broken. The mare floundered to the
road-side and then in misery sank upon the ground.
"Poor old friend," said the woman, with sorrow in her voice, tears
streaming from her eyes, but in her hand was the pistol. "Good-bye, an'
don't hold this ag'in me fur it's all I can do." Close to the horse's
head she held the barrel of the pistol--fired, and without looking,
resumed on foot her solitary way. A few miles further on she halted at a
tavern, hoping that by spending the night, morning might bring along a
friendly wagon, going her road; and she waited until the sun was high,
and then set out on foot. But along toward ten o'clock she was overtaken
by a huckster in a cart. She asked him to let her ride and he drew up,
but looked suspiciously at her.
"I asked you to let me ride, if you please. I had to kill my po' mare
'way back yander--broke her leg in a bridge."
"What sort of a mare?"
"Gray--one of the best old nags I ever saw."
"Well, where air you goin'?"
"To Nashville. Will you let me ride?"
"Got business down there, I take it."
"Yes, or I wouldn't want to go."
"I don't know about that. Women folks goes a good many places where they
hain't got no business. Ain't a runnin' away from yo' old man, air you?"
"No, I'm goin' to him."
"Huh, he run away frum you. Is that it?"
"No, they tuck him away. Air you goin' to let me ride?"
"Tuck him away for what?"
"They have accused him of makin' wild-cat licker."
"Here, give me yo' hand an' I'll help you up. Wait, I'll make the seat
soft with this coat. Now we're all right. An' I've got a baked turkey
leg an' some mighty fine blackberry cordial--your'n."
She thanked him, and when she had eaten and drunk, he began to apologize
for his slowness in permitting her to ride with him.
"Ma'm, I didn't know but you mout be one these here women preachers. One
of 'em come up into my neighborhood an' it seemed that befo' she come
nature was a smilin' like she was waitin' fur her sweetheart. Well, me
an' my wife went to hear her preach, an' she talked right well--never
hearn a woman talk better--an' she cotch the folks. Worse than that, she
cotch my wife an' turned my home into a hell, an' nature shut her eyes
an' all war dark fur me. Nothin' would do my wife, but she must go out
an' preach too. I begged her--told her that I loved her better than I
did forty gospels, an' I did; but she would go. I told her not to come
back--but one night about three months atterward, when it was a pourin'
down rain, an' my little child was a cryin', there come a knock on the
door, an'--an' I know'd. I opened it an' there she was an' as I was a
huggin' of her, she says, 'Jeff, I b'l'eve a woman's duty is at home.
Christ was a man.' Ma'm, I kin haul you all the way down there. I know
where the jail is--I've been in there--an' I'll take you right straight
to it."
"What did they take you there for?"
"It war a funny thing. I went up in the hill country, fur up from my
home, an' the man what I stopped with was a maker of licker--an' atter
dark I went with him to his still an' helped him fetch some wood for the
fire; an' jest as I flung down a turn, bang, bang, an' here was the
government men. Well, they tuck us down, an' of course I know'd I'd git
outen it for I hadn't made no licker, but, bless you, the jedge sent me
to the penitentiary for a year; an' ever sense then my wife she 'lows
that I'm afeared to fetch up enough wood at home. Ain't a cryin', air
you' ma'm?"
"They air goin' to hang Jasper," she moaned.
"You don't mean Jasper Starbuck. Well, I'll be blamed," he added,
reading her answer in her tear-streaming eyes. "I hope not, ma'm. Did
you ever hear him say anythin' about Jeff Waters? Mebby not, fur he
never ricollecks sich things. But he toted me off the field at Shiloh
when the bullets was like a swarm of bees. That's how I come to have
this," he said, and raising his left leg, hit it a resounding whack with
the hickory staff of his whip. "Timber, ma'm."
That night they were given shelter at a farmer's house, and were on
their journey again by the rising of the sun, but shortly afterward the
cart ran into a rut and one of the wheels was broken. Margaret
petulantly wondered if the Lord were trying to keep her from reaching
Nashville, and Jeff Waters replied:
"Well, if He tries right hard, He'll hold you back all right."
In the woods he cut a pole, braced his axletree, and dragged the cart
four miles to a blacksmith's shop, and two hours afterward, having lost
much time precious to the woman, they were again jogging along the road.
They put up at a tavern at night, Jeff sleeping in his cart under a
shed, explaining that he was now close enough to town to warrant such
precaution against thievery.
"I don't know why there air mo' thieves in town than in the country," he
said, and Margaret challenged his admiration and aroused his surprise by
remarking:
"I reckon it's because there air mo' folks in town."
He told her that she was gifted with fine reason and that the one saying
alone was more than enough to pay her passage.
As they drew nearer to town she began to grow nervous, but, with her
woman's tact, exhibited no astonishment at what she saw; nor did she,
after entering a busy street, show that she had ever been accustomed to
a scene less lively. They drove straightway to the jail, and when
tremulously she inquired for Jasper, they told her that he was not
there.
* * * * *
In the mountains Tom and Lou were sojourning in a little town, when by
chance they heard of the old man's arrest. At first Lou was overcome
with alarm and grief, but her husband charmed her back to enthusiasm and
to smiles.
"Why," said he, "they will take him before my father, and as soon as I
get there the governor will turn him loose--be tickled to do it."
"But they will take him to jail, won't they?"
"Mebby, if they don't take him up home. By this time they've found out
all about him. We'll drive across the country, get on a railroad train
and be there in a jiffy."