ANOTHER STRANGER.
Mr. Matthews and his son first heard of the stranger through Lou
Gordon, the mail carrier, who stopped at the mill on his way to Flag
with the week’s mail.
The native rode close to the shed, and waited until the saw had
shrieked its way through the log of oak, and the carriage had rattled
back to first position. Then with the dignity belonging to one of his
station, as a government officer, he relieved his overcharged mouth of
an astonishing quantity of tobacco, and drawled, “Howdy, men.”
“Howdy, Lou,” returned Young Matt from the engine, and Old Matt from
the saw.
“Reckon them boards is fer a floor in Joe Gardner’s new cabin?”
“Yes,” returned Old Matt; “we ought to got ’em out last week, but seems
like we couldn’t get at it with the buryin’ an’ all.”
“’Pears like you all ’r gettin’ mighty proud in this neighborhood.
_Puncheon_ floors _used_ t’ be good enough fer anybody t’ dance on. Be
a buildin’ board houses next, I reckon.”
Mr. Matthews laughed, “Bring your logs over to Fall Creek when you get
ready to build, Lou; we’ll sure do you right.”
The representative of the government recharged his mouth. “’Lowed as
how I would,” he returned. “I ain’t one o’ this here kind that don’t
want t’ see no changes. Gov’ment’s all th’ time makin’ ’provements.
Inspector ’lowed last trip we’d sure be a gettin’ mail twice a week at
Flag next summer. This here’s sure bound t’ be a big country some day.
“Talkin’ ’bout new fangled things, though, men! I seed the blamdest
sight las’ night that ever was in these woods, I reckon. I gonies! Hit
was a plumb wonder!” Kicking one foot from the wooden stirrup and
hitching sideways in the saddle, he prepared for an effort.
“Little feller, he is. Ain’t as tall as Preachin’ Bill even, an’ fat! I
gonies! he’s fat as a possum ’n ’simmon time. _He_ don’t walk, can’t;
just naturally waddles on them little duck legs o’ hisn. An’ he’s got
th’ prettiest little ol’ face; all red an’ white, an’ as round’s a
walnut; an’ a fringe of th’ whitest hair you ever seed. An’ clothes!
Say, men.” In the pause the speaker deliberately relieved his
overcharged mouth. The two in the mill waited breathlessly. “Long
tailed coat, stove pipe hat, an’ cane with a gold head as big as a
’tater. ’Fo’ God, men, there ain’t been ary such a sight within a
thousand miles of these here hills ever. An’ doin’s! My Lord,
a’mighty!”
The thin form of the native doubled up as he broke into a laugh that
echoed and re-echoed through the little valley, ending in a wild,
“Whoop-e-e-e. Say! When he got out of th’ hack last night at th’ Forks,
Uncle Ike he catched sight o’ him an’ says, says he t’ me, ‘Ba thundas!
Lou, looky there! Talk ’bout prosperity. I’m dummed if there ain’t ol’
Santa Claus a comin’ t’ th’ Forks in th’ summa time. ‘Ba thundas!
What!’
“An’ when Santa come in, he—he wanted—Now what d’ you reckon he wanted?
A _bath!_ Yes, sir-e-e. Dad burn me, ’f he didn’t. A bath! Whoop-e-e,
you ought t’ seen Uncle Ike! He told him, ‘Ba thundas!’ he could give
him a bite to eat an’ a place to sleep, but he’d be pisined bit by
rattlers, clawed by wild cats, chawed by the hogs, et by buzzards, an’
everlastin’ly damned ’fore he’d tote water ’nough fer anybody t’ swim
in. ‘Ba thundas! What!’
“What’s he doin’ here?” asked Mr. Matthews, when the mountaineer had
recovered from another explosion.
Lou shook his head, as he straightened himself in the saddle. “Blame me
’f I kin tell. Jest wouldn’t tell ’t all last night. Wanted a _bath._
Called Uncle Ike some new fangled kind of a savage, an’ th’ old man
’lowed he’d show him. He’d sure have him persecuted fer ’sultin’ a
gov’ment servant when th’ inspector come around. Yes he did. Oh, thar
was doin’s at the Forks last night!”
Again the mail carrier’s laugh echoed through the woods.
“Well, I must mosey along. He warn’t up this mornin’ when I left.
Reckon he’ll show up ’round here sometime ’fore sun down. Him an’ Uncle
Ike won’t hitch worth a cent an’ he’ll be huntin’ prouder folks. I done
told th’ old man he’d better herd him fer a spell, fer if he was t’ get
loose in these woods, there wouldn’t be nary deer er bear left come
Thanksgivin’ time. Uncle Ike said ‘Ba thundas!’ he’d let me know that
he warn’t runnin’ no dummed asylum. He ’lowed he was postmaster, ‘Ba
thundas!’ an’ had all he could do t’ keep th’ dad burned gov’ment
straight.”
Late that afternoon Lou’s prophecy was fulfilled. A wagon going down
the Creek with a load of supplies for the distillery stopped at the
mill shed and the stranger began climbing carefully down over the
wheels. Budd Wilson on his high seat winked and nodded at Mr. Matthews
and his son, as though it was the greatest joke of the season.
“Hold those horses, driver. Hold them tight; tight, sir.”
“Got ’em, Mister,” responded Budd promptly. The mules stood with
drooping heads and sleepy eyes, the lines under their feet.
The gentleman was feeling carefully about the hub of the wheel with a
foot that, stretch as he might, could not touch it by a good six
inches.
“That’s right, man, right,” he puffed. “Hold them tight; tight. Start
now, break a leg sure, sure. Then what would Sarah and the girls do?
Oh, blast it all, where is that step? Can’t stay here all day. Bring a
ladder. Bring a high chair, a table, a box, a big box, a—heh—heh—Look
out, I say, look out! Blast it all, what do you mean?” This last was
called forth by Young Matt lifting the little man bodily to the ground,
as an ordinary man would lift a child.
To look up at the young giant, the stranger tipped back his head, until
his shining silk hat was in danger of falling in the dirt. “Bless my
soul, what a specimen! What a specimen!” Then with a twinkle in his
eye, “Which one of the boys are you, anyway?”
At this the three mountaineers roared with laughter. With his dumpy
figure in the long coat, and his round face under the tall hat, the
little man was irresistible. He fairly shone with good humor; his
cheeks were polished like big red apples; his white hair had the luster
of silver; his blue eyes twinkled; his silk hat glistened; his gold
watch guard sparkled; his patent leathers glistened; and the cane with
the big gold head gleamed in the sunlight.
“That’s him, Doc,” called the driver. “That’s the feller what wallered
Wash Gibbs like I was a tellin’ ye. Strongest man in the hills he is.
Dad burn me if I believe he knows how strong he is.”
“Doc—Doc—Dad burned—Doc,” muttered the stranger. “What would Sarah and
the girls say!” He waddled to the wagon, and reached up one fat hand
with a half dollar to Budd, “Here, driver, here. Get cigars with that;
cigars, mind you, or candy. I stay here. Mind you don’t get anything to
drink; nothing to drink, I say.”
Budd gathered up the reins and woke the sleepy mules with a vigorous
jerk. “Nary a drink, Doc; nary a drink. Thank you kindly all the same.
Got t’ mosey ’long t’ th’ still now; ought t’ o’ been there hour ago.
’f I can do anything fer you, jest le’ me know. I live over on Sow Coon
Gap, when I’m ’t home. Come over an’ visit with me. Young Matt there’ll
guide you.”
As he watched the wagon down the valley, the stranger mused.
“Doc—Doc—huh. Quite sure that fellow will buy a drink; quite sure.”
When the wagon had disappeared, he turned to Mr. Matthews and his son;
“According to that fellow, I am not far from a sheep ranch kept by a
Mr. Howitt. That’s it, Mr. Daniel Howitt; fine looking man, fine; brown
eyes; great voice; gentleman, sir, gentleman, if he is keeping sheep in
this wilderness. Blast it all, just like him, just like him; always
keeping somebody’s sheep; born to be a shepherd; born to be. Know him?”
At mention of Mr. Howitt’s name, Young Matt had looked at his father
quickly. When the stranger paused, he answered, “Yes, sir. We know Dad
Howitt. Is he a friend of yourn?”
“Dad—Dad Howitt. Doc and Dad. Well, what would Sarah and the girls say?
Friend of mine? Young man Daniel and David, I am David; Daniel and
David lay on the same blanket when they were babies; played in the same
alley; school together same classes; colleged together; next door
neighbors. Know him! Blast it all, where _is_ this sheep place?”
Again the two woodsmen exchanged glances. The elder Matthews spoke, “It
ain’t so far from here, sir. The ranch belongs to me and my son. But
Mr. Howitt will be out on the hills somewhere with the sheep now. You’d
better go home with us and have supper, and the boy will take you down
this evenin’.”
“Well, now, that’s kind, sir; very kind, indeed. Man at the Postoffice
is a savage, sir; blasted, old incorrigible savage. My name is
Coughlan; Dr. David Coughlan, of Chicago; practicing physician for
forty years; don’t do anything now; not much, that is. Sarah and the
girls won’t let me. Your name, sir?”
“Grant Matthews. My boy there has the same. We’re mighty glad to meet
any friend of Dad’s, I can tell you. He’s sure been a God’s blessin’ to
this neighborhood.”
Soon they started homeward, Young Matt going ahead to do the chores,
and to tell his mother of their coming guest, while Mr. Matthews
followed more slowly with the doctor. Shortening his stride to conform
to the slow pace of the smaller man, the mountaineer told his guest
about the shepherd; how he had come to them; of his life; and how he
had won the hearts of the people. When he told how Mr. Howitt had
educated Sammy, buying her books himself from his meager wages, the
doctor interrupted in his quick way, “Just like him! just like him.
Always giving away everything he earned. Made others give, too. Blast
it all, he’s cost me thousands of dollars, thousands of dollars,
treating patients of his that never paid a cent; not a cent, sir.
Proud, though; proud as Lucifer. Fine old, family; finest in the
country, sir. Right to be proud, right to be.”
Old Matt scowled as he returned coldly, “He sure don’t seem that way to
us, Mister. He’s as common as an old shoe.” And then the mountaineer
told how his son loved the shepherd, and tried to explain what the old
scholar’s friendship had meant to them.
The stranger ejaculated, “Same old thing; same old trick. Did me that
way; does everybody that way. Same old Daniel. Proud, though; can’t
help it; can’t help it.”
The big man answered with still more warmth, “You ought to hear how he
talks to us folks when we have meetin’s at the Cove school house. He’s
as good as any preacher you ever heard; except that he don’t put on as
much, maybe. Why, sir, when we buried Jim Lane week before last,
everybody ’lowed he done as well as a regular parson.”
At this Dr. Coughlan stopped short and leaned against a convenient tree
for support, looking up at his big host, with merriment he could not
hide; “Parson, parson! Daniel Howitt talk as good as a parson! Blast it
all! Dan is one of the biggest D. D.’s in the United States; as good as
a parson, I should think so! Why, man, he’s my pastor; my pastor.
Biggest church, greatest crowds in the city. Well what would Sarah and
the girls say!” He stood there gasping and shaking with laughter, until
Old Matt, finding the ridiculous side of the situation, joined in with
a guffaw that fairly drowned the sound of the little man’s merriment.
When they finally moved on again, the Doctor said, “And you never knew?
The papers were always full, always. His real name is—”
“Stop!” Old Matt spoke so suddenly and in such a tone that the other
jumped in alarm. “I ain’t a meanin’ no harm, Doc; but you oughtn’t to
tell his name, and—anyway I don’t want to know. Preacher or no
preacher, he’s a man, he is, and that’s what counts in this here
country. If Dad had wanted us to know about himself, I reckon he’d a
told us, and I don’t want to hear it until he’s ready.”
The Doctor stopped short again, “Right, sir; right. Daniel has his
reasons, of course. I forgot. That savage at the Postoffice tried to
interrogate me; tried to draw me. I was close; on guard you see. Fellow
in the wagon tried; still on guard. You caught me. Blast it all, I like
you! Fine specimen that boy of yours; fine!”
When they reached the top of the ridge the stranger looked over the
hills with exclamations of delight, “Grand, sir; grand! Wish Sarah and
the girls could see. Don’t wonder Daniel staid. That Hollow down there
you say; way down there? Mutton—Mutton Hollow? Daniel lives there?
Blast it all; come on, man; come on.”
As they drew near the house, Pete came slowly up the Old Trail and met
them at the gate.