ALONG THE HICKORY RIDGES
The human analyst, jotting down in his note-book the motives of men, is
often strangely misled. The master of a great financial house, working
day and night in an office, is not trading away his life for a system of
railroads. Bless you! sir, he would not give a day of those precious
hours for all the steel rails in the world. Nor is my lady spending her
life like water to reach the vantage-point where she may entertain Sir
Henry. That tall, keen-eyed woman with the brains crowded in her head
does not care a snap of her finger if the thing called Sir Henry be
flying to the devil.
Look you a little further in, good analyst. It is the passion of the
chess-player. Each of these is up to the shoulders in the grandest game
you ever dreamed of. Other skilful men and other quick-witted women are
there across the table with Chance a-meddling. The big plan must be
carried out. The iron trumpery and the social folderol are bits of stuff
that have to be juggled about in this business. They have no more
intrinsic value than a bank of fog. Providence made a trifling
miscalculation when it put together the human mind. As the thing works,
there is nothing worth while but the thrills of the game. And these
thrills! How they do play the devil with the candle! Thus it comes about
that when one pulls his life or his string of playthings out of a hole
he does not seem to have made a gain by it. I learned this on the north
bank of the Valley River, listening to Ump's growls as he ran his hands
over the Bay Eagle, and the replies of Jud lying by the Cardinal in the
sun.
Gratitude toward the man helper is about as rare as the splinters of the
true cross. When one owes the debt to Providence, one depends always
upon the statute of limitations to bar it. Here sat these grateful
gentlemen, lately returned by a sort of miracle to the carpet of the
green sod, swapping gibes like a couple of pirates.
"Old Nick was grabbin' for us this time," said Jud, "an' he mighty nigh
got us."
"I reckon," answered Ump, "a feller ought to git down on his
marrow-bones."
"I wouldn't try it," said Jud. "You might cork yourself."
"It was like the Red Sea," said I; "all the cattle piled up in there,
and going round and round."
"Just like the good book tells about it," added Ump; "only we was them
Egyptians, a-flounderin' an' a-spittin' water."
"Boys," said Jud, "that Pharaoh-king ought to a been bored for the
holler horn. I've thought of it often."
"Why?" I asked.
"You see," he answered, "after all them miracles, locusts, an' frogs an'
sich, he might a knowed the Lord was a-layin' for him. An' when he saw
that water piled up, he ought a lit out for home. 'Stead of that, he
went asailin' in like the unthinkin' horse."
The hunchback cocked his eye and began to whistle. Then he broke into a
ditty:
"When Pharaoh rode down to the ragin' Red Sea,
Rode down to the ragin' Red Sea,
He hollered to Moses, 'Just git on to me,
A-ridin' along through the sea.'
"An' Moses he answered to hollerin' Pharaoh,
The same as you'd answer to me,
'You'll have to have bladders tied on to your back,
If you ever git out of the sea.'"
Thus I learned that the man animal long ago knocked Young Gratitude on
the head, heaved him overboard into a leaky gig, and left him behind to
ogle the seagulls. He is a healthy pirate, this man animal, accustomed
with great complacency to maroon the trustful stowaway when he comes to
nose about the cargo of his brig, or thrusts his pleading in between the
cutthroat and his pleasant sins.
As for me, I was desperately glad to be safe out of that pot of muddy
water. I was ready like the apostle of old time to build here a
tabernacle, or to go down on what Ump called my "marrow-bones." As it
was, I dismounted and hugged El Mahdi, covering up in his wet mane a bit
of trickling moisture strangely like those tears that kept getting in
the way of my being a man.
I had tried to laugh, and it went string-halt. I had tried to take a
hand in the passing gibes, and the part limped. I had to do something,
and this was my most dignified emotional play. The blue laws of the
Hills gave this licence. A fellow might palaver over his horse when he
took a jolt in the bulwarks of his emotion. You, my younger brethren of
the great towns, when you knock your heads against some corner of the
world and go a-bawling to your mother's petticoat, will never know what
deeps of consolation are to be gotten out of hugging a horse when one's
heart is aching.
I wondered if it were all entirely true, or whether I should knock my
elbow against something and wake up. We were on the north bank of the
Valley River, with every head of those six hundred steers. Out there
they were, strung along the road, shaking their wet coats like a lot of
woolly dogs, and the afternoon sun wavering about on their shiny backs.
And there was Ump with his thumbs against the fetlocks of the Bay Eagle,
and Jud trying to get his copper skin into the half-dried shirt, and the
hugged El Mahdi staring away at the brown hills as though he were
everlastingly bored.
I climbed up into the saddle to keep from executing a fiddler's jig, and
thereby proving that I suffered deeply from the curable disease of
youth.
We started the drove across the hills toward Roy's tavern, Jud at his
place in front of the steers, walking in the road with the Cardinal's
bridle under his arm, and Ump behind, while El Mahdi strayed through the
line of cattle to keep them moving. The steers trailed along the road
between the rows of rail fence running in zigzag over the country to the
north. I sat sidewise in my big saddle dangling my heels.
There were long shadows creeping eastward in the cool hollows when we
came to the shop of old Christian the blacksmith. I was moving along in
front of the drove, fingering El Mahdi's mane and whistling lustily, and
I squared him in the crossroads to turn the plodding cattle down toward
Roy's tavern. I noticed that the door of the smith's shop was closed and
the smoke creeping in a thin line out of the mud top of the chimney, but
I did not stop to inquire if the smith were about his work. I held no
resentment against the man. He had doubtless cut the cable, as Ump had
said, but his provocation had been great.
The settlement was now made fair, skin for skin, as the devil put it
once upon a time. I whistled away and counted the bullocks as they went
strolling by me, indicating each fellow with my finger. Presently Ump
came at the tail of the drove and pulled up the Bay Eagle under the tall
hickories.
"Well," he said, "the old shikepoke must be snoozin'."
"It's pretty late in the day," said I.
"He lost a lot of sleep last night," responded Ump. "When a feller
travels with the devil in the night, he can't work with the Lord in the
day."
"He hasn't been at it long," said I, pointing to the faint smoke
hovering above the chimney; "or the fire would be out."
"Right," said Ump. "An, that's a horse of another colour. I think I
shall take a look."
With that he swung down from his saddle, crossed to the shop, and flung
open the door. Then he began to whistle softly.
"Hot nest," he said, "but no sign of the shikepoke."
"He may be hiding out until we pass," said I.
"Not he," responded the hunchback.
Then I took an inspiration. "Ump," I cried, "I'll bet the bit out of the
bridle that he saw us coming and lit out to carry the word!"
The hunchback struck his fist against the door of the shop. "Quiller,"
he said, "you ought to have sideboards on your noggin. That's what he's
done, sure as the Lord made little apples!"
Then he got on his horse and rode her through the hickories out to the
brow of the hill. Presently I heard him call, and went to him with El
Mahdi on a trot. He pointed his finger north across the country and,
following the pointed finger, I saw the brown coat of a man disappearing
behind a distant ridge. It was too far away to see who it was that
travelled in that coat, but we knew as well as though the man's face had
passed by our stirrups.
"Hoity-toity!" said Ump, "what doin's there'll be when he gits in with
the news!"
"The air will be blue," said I.
"Streaked and striped," said he.
"I should like to see Woodford champing the bit," said I.
"I'd give a leg for the sight of it," replied the hunchback, "an' they
could pick the leg."
I laughed at the hunchback's offer to the Eternal Powers. Of all the
generation of rogues, he was least fitted to barter away his
underpinning.
We rode back to the shop and down the hill after the cattle, Ump
drumming on the pommel with his fingers and firing a cackle of fantastic
monologue. "Quiller," he said, "do you think Miss Cynthia will be glad
to see the drove comin' down the road?"
"Happy as a June bug," said I.
"Old Granny Lanham," continued the hunchback, "used to have a song that
went like this:
"'God made man, an' man made money;
God made bees, an' bees made honey;
God made woman, an' went away to rest Him,
An' along come the devil, an' showed her how to best Him.'"
"Meaning what?" said I.
"Meanin'," responded Ump, "that if you think you know what a woman's
goin' to do, you're as badly fooled as if you burned your shirt."
"Ump," I said sharply, "what do you know about women?"
"Nothin' at all," said he, "nothin' at all. But I know about mares. An'
when they lay back their ears, it don't always mean that they're goin'
to kick you."