The Starbucks Part 18

"Not a word."

"Fell down day befo' yistidy an' broke her hip."

"Why," said Margaret, "you didn't tell us yistidy at meetin'."

"Wall, I had suthin' else on my mind at the time. When things git to pus.h.i.+n' around in my mind, I jest let one thing crowd out another."

"Fell down and broke her hip," Margaret mused aloud.

"Yes'm. Runnin' fitten to kill herse'f at the time. Can't run so mighty brisk, you know, bein' old an' sorter rheumatic, but she done the best she could. I seed a old feller a runnin' once, an' I says--"

"But here," Jasper broke in, "ain't she old enough to know better'n to run fitten to kill herse'f?"

"Yes, suh, but she had to run on this here occasion. She was a gittin'

outen the way."

"Outen the way of what?"

"The crazy man that was atter her with a knife. Reckon you ricolleck Bud Thomas," he went on without a change of countenance. "He made a fiddle outen a gourd an' could play on it a right sharp. Went along by the sto'

one day an' he war a settin' on a box with this here gourd riddle, an--"

"Well, but what about him?" Jasper broke in.

"He war the crazy man. Reckon you ricollect that black ash tree down by the creek at Baker's ford. Come along thar one time when the white suckers war a runnin' an' I had a pair of grab hooks, an'--"

"Well, what about Baker's ford?" Jasper asked, coming closer to him, and Margaret leaned forward expectantly.

"That's whar he hung hisse'f."

"What are we all a comin' to?" Margaret sighed, sitting back in her chair.

Laz continued: "Didn't have no rope, so he hung hisse'f with a grape vine."

Starbuck shook his head. "Oh, you kin put a grape vine to mo' uses than one."

Margaret turned upon him. "Jasper, I wouldn't make light of it."

"I ain't a makin' light of it--can't make nuthin' of it. Laz, kin you think of any other little thing that's happened to fret yo'

neighborhood?"

"Believe not, nothin' wuth dividin'. Did hear that Tobe Walsh war kicked to death by a mule. Didn't put much faith in it, though."

"But was it true?"

"Yes. The mule got him. Buried ter-day."

"Oh, isn't that sad," Margaret wailed. "And he leaves a young wife, too."

"Better than to leave an old one," said Jasper. "The young widder, you know, kin smile through her grief."

"Had to tote her from the grave," Laz went on. "But she picked up a right smart chance when Steve Moore came along. Had her bonnet set fur him befo' she married Tobe, but he broke the strings an' got away."

"Don't want to borry nothin', do you, Laz?" Jasper inquired.

"Wall, yes," he answered, his countenance for the first time showing signs of animation. "I come over to borry a hoss fur a week or two. Our old nag fell offen the bluff an' killed hisse'f."

"That was ruther accommodatin', Laz. You would a been compelled to haul him away in a day or two longer. But you want to borry a hoss for a week or two? Don't you think you mout keep him a leetle longer?"

"Yes, mout on a pinch."

"Got any corn to feed him on?"

Laz began to scratch his head. "Wall, that is whut I was a goin' to talk to you about. Our co'n crib war down on the branch. Branch riz an'

washed all the co'n away, an' I'd like fur you to let me have enough to feed on fur a month or so."

Jasper was standing near Margaret. She reached over and plucked his sleeve. "You can't do it, you jest can't. It would be a robbin' of yo'se'f."

"Wall," drawled the old man, with a countryman's philosophical resignation in the face of a difficulty that cannot be avoided, "when a man robs hisse'f he ginerally knows about how fur the work has gone on.

I've been a lettin' putty nigh every man have what he wants an' it's most too late to stop now. Laz, tell Kintchin to haul you over a load of co'n an' you kin ride Old Roan home."

The borrower nodded his head, arose and started toward the door, but halted and turned back. Starbuck inquired if there were anything else on his mind. He scratched his head as if he would harrow up his sleeping faculties and managed to say that he believed not.

"Laz, wush you'd try to keep my hoss away from that bluff."

"Oh, I'll take as good kere of him as if he belonged to me."

"What!--as if he belonged to you? Then I reckon I better not let you have him. You must do better than that, Laz. An' say, don't furgit to fetch him back."

"Oh, I never furgit nuthin'. Good-day."

Margaret hastened to the window and called after him: "Oh, Laz. We air goin' to kill a sheep to-morrer. Tell yo' mother we'll send her over a hindquarter."

"Yes'm," he answered, without looking back, and slouched off down the road.

Up and down the room the old man walked, deep in thought. With his eyes half-closed, sometimes he looked like a lion dozing in the sun. They say that a game-c.o.c.k is the bravest thing in the world. That is not true.

Nothing can be gamer than a game man. He is willing to die for a principle. And never is he thrice armed unless his quarrel is just.

Laz came back to the window and spoke and the old man started and looked toward him. "Jasper, I have hearn that Lije Peters is about to be app'inted deputy marshal."

"Yes, Laz, that's the news a stirrin'."

Behind the lout's countenance a light was gradually turned up. "We all knows whut that means, Jasper, an' ef you need me, all you've got to do is to git out on the hill-top an' holler. Layin' in bed one night, an' I hearn a feller holler. I went to him. They had him tied across a log an'

his s.h.i.+rt was off. I asked the cap'n of the gang whut it meant, an' he 'lowed that the feller had been in the habit o' whippin' his wife, an'

then I 'lows, I does--'Old chap, I reckon you'll hatter swallow yo'

salts. Good night.' An' I hearn him a swollerin' 'em. But if I hear you holler, Jasper, I'll--"

"Don't talk about it, Laz."