Shawn Of Skarrow Part 5

inside him, he look in de gla.s.s ergin, en 'lows to hi'sel', 'I reckon I'se jes' about de wahmest thing in dis hyar town,'--an' he wuz! He foots all de bills. Lawse! how he meck frens. He tell er story, en dey all jes' laff fit ter bust, an' say, 'Hain' he great!' De ladies uv de town, some uv 'em, dey roll dey black eyes at him an' say, 'Hain' he sweet!' He done fergot de little girl wid de blue eyes an' de gold ha'r blowin' in de win'. De gamblers tuck a crack at him, too--dey kin tell a sucker three miles off. Dey showed him how to handle de kyards an' roll de bones, en he rar'd back in a sof' cheer wid a black seegar in hi'

mouf an' see his money slip erway. Lawse! yo' oreter see his room whar he stay. He slep' in a feather-tick nine foot deep, an' show-nuff goose feathers, mine yo'; a red lam' wool blanket, en lookin'-gla.s.ses all over de wall, so ez he could see hi'sel' whichever way he tu'n. n.o.body to scole him erbout gittin' up in de mawnin' en he had his breakfas' fotch up on a silver waiter by a s.h.i.+ny n.i.g.g.e.r, but somehow, de vittels got so dey didn't tase ez good ez dey did down on de ole fawm. City grub looks mi'ty temp'in at fust, but after while when yo' git down ter kinder pickin' ovah hit, yo'll find dat hit's lackin' in de juice er sunthin', en yo' long to lay yo' gums on de things jes' whar dey grow.

"Byme-bye--hit allus comes, he see dat he's gittin' low in cash, en 'fore long yo' see him slippin' 'roun' to de p.a.w.n shop. De ole p.a.w.n-shop man he scowl at him an' fix ter bleed him good en strong. His dimun s.h.i.+rt-stud wen' fust, en one by one de rings on hi' fingers, tell dey look ez bare ez a bean-pole in de wintah time.

"He move his bo'din' house, en purty soon he move ergin, tell he fine'ly c.u.m ter a house whar dey didn't have much mo' den liver hash. Oh, Lord!

Liver has.h.!.+ Whar wuz his frens? Ef enny uv yo' hez ever been dar, good an' busted, yo' know whar dey wuz. Dey tu'n erway frum him lack he wuz a polecat.

"One mawnin' when ever'thing wuz gone, he started frum de city. Whut a change! One shurt wuz all he had, en dat hadn' seen de wash fer two weeks. He wuz seedy en his heart wuz sore; he wuz down an' out, en clean out, en didn't even have chawin' terbacker. He look lack a turkey buzzard ez had lost his wing-feathers. He wundered on; he stop by de bridge whar de water wuz tricklin' down below--he see de picture uv hi'sel' in de water, en' hit meck de cole chills run up hi' back.

'Shamed er himsel'? He dun got so ershamed dat he look lack he c.u.m out'n a hole in de groun'. Byme-bye he c.u.m to a fawm house, en ast fer a job.

Yo' know he mus' er been awful hongry to think erbout wuk, but he dun got so hongry dat he et yarbs en sapplin' bark er ennything. De fawmer look at him en say, 'I cudden' hev yo' erbout de house; de wimmen wouldn' stan' fer hit, but I got some hawgs up de holler yo' kin feed, but yo'll hev to stay erway frum hyar, ez I doan' wan' my chillun skeered.'

"He wen' up de holler. De win' sigh en groan thru de poppaw bushes, en he wuz sad, en de dark drap down en hit wuz so lonesome; n.o.body but de katydids en de screech-owl en dem hawgs. Doan' yo' feel sorry fer him, frens? I do--I feel sorry fer ennybody in dat sort er fix, but feelin'

sorry hain' gwine ter holp much when yo' git yo'se'f tied up in sech a box. He fed dem hawgs, he et what dem hawgs et, he slep' close to dem hawgs, he wuz suttenly _on de hawg_, but dey wuz better company en dem gamblers en some dem wimmen in de city--yes, dey wuz.

"Byme-bye, one night, ez he see de moon comin' over de hill, en de stars winkin en blinkin' in de sky, he got ter thinkin' uv de ole home, uv de chitlins en de spare ribs, de fat biskits en de sweet milk, de persarves en de yaller b.u.t.ter--he jes' cudden' stand hit. He walk down to de hawg-pen en throw over some cawn en say, 'Far'well, my frens, I'se done de bes' I kin fer yo', but I'm gwine home!'

"He struck out, fust in a kine er foxtrot, but de mo' he thought er home, de faster he got. Erlong time hit seem, over dat lonesome road. De little chillun c.u.m out ter look at him, but fly back inter de house, he look so awdashus, en ef he meet a hawg in de road, he cudden' look him in de face. He could smell de ham and hominy fryin' in de skillet at de houses whar he pa.s.s, en' hit meck hi' mouf water lack a hoss wid de s...o...b..rs.

"Fine'ly he see erway down yondah, de ole place frum de top uv de hill--de ole house sottin' back in de cool shade. He tuck a hitch on his rotten britches an' hit de grit.

"Ez he c.u.m up to de yahd gate, his dawg bark at him, an' his daddy c.u.m down de yahd wid his big gold-headed cane, en he never knowed hi' son whatsomever, tell de boy kiner drag up en say, 'Pap, fo' Gawd sake, gimme sunthin' ter eat!'

"Ole Miss, his mammy, sot by de big winder, lookin' kinder sad-like, doin' fancy wuk wid her needle, en singin' sorter sof 'In De Sweet Bye en' Bye,' en' presen'ly she hear her boy's voice--a mammy kin hear de voice uv her boy a long way--en' she jump up en' thode her sewin' erway en' cried out ez de tears stream down her cheek, 'Praise Gawd, my boy done c.u.m back!'

"De ole genermun knowed de black sheep dun c.u.m home, en he holler out en say, 'Bring de bes' robe en put hit on him, but wash him in de pon'

fust!' Den he say, 'Bring de fattes' calf, de one fed on de bran' mas.h.!.+'

Dey wuz merry, en his mammy wep' on his neck, arfter hit wuz washed, en when he sot down to de table, en she give him de veal cutlets en de light rolls, he des hook his laig 'roun' a cheer 'roun' an' lay to, en he des kin er roll frum side ter side, layin' in de grub, en licken' his fingers, en pa.s.sin' up hi' plate--en dey think he's thru, en gwine set back, but he jes' teck a fresh holt en square hi'se'f erway en des roam eroun' in glory, en he smile, en de grease jes' a-s.h.i.+nin' on hi' chin.

"But de brother wuz mad. He 'low dat he stay at home, en ack a puff.e.c.k genermun, en dis hyar skalawag jes' play de devil ginerally, en den c.u.m back lack er skunk en dey tu'n de ole house upside down fer him. He chaw de rag monstrous fer a spell, but de ole man fine'ly tell him ef he doan' lack hit, he better go out en try de wurl hi'se'f, en de brother look at de Prodegale, en kiner s.h.i.+ver en simmer down.

"Dat night when de Prodegale got inter de feather-bed, whar he done hid a ham-bone under de piller, en hi' mammy tucked him in en kiss him good night, he strotch hi'se'f en say, 'When I goes erway frum heah ergin, I goes erway daid!' En he drap to sleep--de sweetes' sleep fo' many er long time, en dream uv de little gal wid de blue eyes, who wuz still er waitin' fer him.

"Young men, all I wan' ter say tuh yo' by de way uv windin' up is dis--Ef yo' got a good home, er enny sort uv home, stay dar!"

And Shawn, sitting by the window, clasped his little Testament and fervently said, "Amen!"

CHAPTER IX

Shawn had been at home for several days. One night when the waves were rolling high on the stream, he sat in the office of the hotel, which stood on the bank of the river. A cheerful log fire glowed in the old fireplace. Pence Oiler, the ferryman, sat in the corner puffing at a cob pipe. Suddenly, came the loud cry of "h.e.l.lo!" When the door was opened, a young man and woman came into the office. They had hurriedly gotten out of a buggy and both seemed very much agitated, and the young man quickly informed them that they were eloping from a neighboring county and were being hotly pursued by an angry father and brother. Shawn's gaze was fixed on the young woman, for never before had he seen such a beautiful face, such l.u.s.trous, dark eyes, lit up by the flame of love, seemed to shed a glow upon the dingy walls of the old room.

"Where can I find the ferryman?" asked the young man.

"I am the ferryman," said old Pence, "but you can't cross the river to-night; the wind is too high."

"But I must cross," said the young man, as a wild glance shot from his eye. "I'll give you ten dollars to set us over!"

"I'm feer'd to resk it," said Pence, but the beautiful girl went up to him, and with a smile which seemed to melt into the very soul, softly said, "I am not afraid. Won't you take us?"

Old Pence hesitated for a moment and then turned and asked, "Who will go with me?"

"Let me go, Mr. Oiler," said Shawn, never thinking of danger connected with the river.

"Can you hold the rudder?" asked old Pence as he turned to Shawn.

"I'll hold it, Mr. Oiler," said Shawn. Down to the sh.o.r.e they went, the sweet woman calm and undisturbed, while the young man at her side was trembling and uneasy. The wind was blowing a gale, and the waves were beating angrily upon the sh.o.r.e.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'll give you ten dollars to set us over."]

After several attempts, Shawn and Oiler succeeded in launching the boat and getting up sail. The spray and water came drenching the young woman, but she quietly took her seat.

"Hold her dead on Ogman's hill!" yelled Oiler to Shawn. The wind bellowed into the stout sail and they shot into the foam, Shawn leaning back with a firm grasp on the tiller, and his eye fixed on Oiler.

"Keep her quartered, with stern to the wind, and don't give her a chance to sheer!" shouted Oiler.

"Is there much danger?" asked the bridegroom, as his teeth chattered.

Oiler did not answer him but yelled to Shawn, "Hold her steady and fast!"

"I'm trying to," said the groom, clutching his fair companion.

"I wasn't talking to you," said Oiler.

They were nearing the Indiana sh.o.r.e. Oiler shouted to Shawn, "Turn her down a few points, then lift her out on the sh.o.r.e!" and beautifully did they mount high on the pebbled beach. Oiler turned to Shawn and said, "We'll not go back to-night." They went to the hotel. The proprietor found the county clerk and a minister, and there in the little hotel parlor, Shawn saw their pa.s.sengers take the marriage vows.

"Wasn't he scared comin' over?" said Shawn to Oiler as they went to bed.

"Yes," said Oiler, "but wimmen always has the best grit when it comes to a showdown, and when a woman makes up her mind to do a thing, 'spesh'ly to git married, thar ain't no river or anything else can stop her. I've seed a good many couples cross this stream--some of 'em, I reckon, wish they had never made the trip. I fetched old Joe Davis over here with his third wife. He run away with old Dodger Spillman's girl. Old Dodger killed a plug hoss tryin' to beat them to the river. We was about forty yards from sh.o.r.e when old Dodger run down and hollered for me to come back, but his girl stood up in the skiff and hollered to him, 'Go back, pap and cool off--hit's my last chance!'

"I started across with a young couple once, but the girl's daddy beat 'em to the river, and drawed down on the young man with a hoss-pistol.

The young man didn't flinch, but folded his arms and looked that old galoot in the eye as cool as ever I see. The father ordered his girl to come back with him, but she ketched holt of her lover's arm and said, 'If you are goin' to shoot, I bid for the fust fire--I'm goin' to have this man!' Her old daddy swelled up and bust out cryin' and begged them to go back home and git married, but they wouldn't do it, and he went across with us, and after he got four or five drinks, he like to bought out the town for them. Don't never run off to git married, Shawn. As for myself, they ain't no sort of weddin' to my likin'. I never got sot on but one girl, but I got sot on her for all time to come, and dad-scat her, she run away with another feller just about a week before we was to be hitched. Wimmen is curious. Some say as how we couldn't git along without 'em, and it looks like it's mighty hard for some to git along with 'em, an' seems as after some people gits the ones they's after, that somethin' comes along to take away their happiness before it has begun. There was Ann Coffee. Her and Eli Travis must a courted nigh onto ten year. It was away back yonder in '52, but I can see 'em now settin'

out thar on the bank, holdin' hands. They went down to Madison and was married at last. They took the Redstone for Cincinnati. The boat was full of people; it was in the spring, and a happy crowd was aboard, with music and dancin', and people come out all along the sh.o.r.e to see the boat pa.s.s. Just four miles below here, on the Kentucky side, the Redstone landed to take a young preacher aboard. His name was Perry Scott, and he come up the swingin'-stage wavin' his han'kerchief to his father and mother on the sh.o.r.e. Suddenly, there comes a mighty roar on the air. The steamer was hid from view as the explosion shook the earth and splashed water everywhere. The b'ilers of the Redstone had bust, and all around you could hear the groans of the dyin'. The young preacher was never heard of again, and nothin' but his white han'kerchief, hangin' in a tree, was ever found. There was over seventeen people killed outright. Eli Travis went down to death, and strange to say, Ann, his wife, who was standin' by his side, was saved. She was blowed high up in the air, but come down close to sh.o.r.e. Her hair turned white after that, Shawn, and she used to set out thar on the bank, where they had set so often, lookin' away down to the bend of the stream whar Eli had been took away from her."

The next morning when Oiler and Shawn started to the river, Oiler slipped a five dollar gold piece in Shawn's hand. "He give me two of 'em, and one of them belongs to you. What are you goin' to do with yours, Shawn?"

"Give it to my mammy," said Shawn.

CHAPTER X

Doctor Hissong sat by the fireplace in his office. Brad was blacking a pair of shoes. "Shawn," said the old doctor, "I'm going up to Old Meadows this afternoon to hunt quail, and I want you to go along. Go down and get ready while Brad hitches up the buggy."

The first snow of the season was gently sifting from the November skies as Doctor Hissong and Shawn drove along the river road. Scattered flocks of wild-geese and ducks were flying above the cottonwoods and sycamores.

The _honk_, _honk_ of the geese as they circled above the stream, their white wings flas.h.i.+ng in the veiled sunlight, lent a delicious touch to the winter scene. Shawn was watching the curling smoke from a tall chimney at the bend of the river. As they drew nearer, he saw the old house nestling behind the tall pine trees, the white columns of the broad porch standing out in stately grandeur. Doctor Hissong drove through the orchard, coming up to the lower entrance to the house. Major LeCroix came down the yard, his long, silvery hair waving beneath his broad-brimmed hat, his ruddy countenance beaming a cordial welcome. Just behind him, his hat in his hand, was Horton, a colored gentleman of the old school, brought up in the LeCroix service, and staunch in his devotion to the family. Major LeCroix led the way to the house. The guineas began calling a chorus of _pot-racs_ and ran fluttering through the drifting snow. "They are giving us a song of welcome," said Doctor Hissong. Horton showed his gleaming teeth and said, "No, sah, it's a song uv sorrow, for my ole woman, Mary, hez got two uv 'em in de yuven, bakin' fo' yo' suppah."