Wolfville Days Part 13

Jeff's merry-go-round with them wooden steeds. It's as I says: that sanctooary is plumb out of debt an' on velvet--has a bank roll big enough to stopper a 2-gallon jug with--in eight weeks from the time Jeff onfurls his lay-out an' opens up his game.'

"Thar's one thing," suddenly observed my aged companion, as he eyed me narrowly, pausing in the interesting Colonel Sterett's relation concerning his family, and becoming doubly impressive with an uplifted fore-finger, "thar's one thing I desires you to fully grasp. As I reels off this yere chronicle, you-all is not to consider me as repeatin' the Colonel's words exact. I ain't gifted like the Colonel, an' my English ain't a marker to his. The Colonel carries the language quiled up an' hangin' at the saddle horn of his intelligence, like a cow puncher does his lariat. An' when he's got ready to rope an' throw a fact or two, you should oughter see him take her down an' go to work. Horn or neck or any foot you says; it's all one to the Colonel. Big or little loop, in the bresh or in the open, it's a cinch the Colonel fastens every time he throws his verbal rope. The fact he's after that a-way, is sh.o.r.e the Colonel's.

Doc Peets informs me private that Colonel Sterett is the greatest artist, oral, of which his'try records the brand, an' you can go broke on Peets's knowin'. An' thar's other test'mony.

"'I don't lay down my hand,' says Texas Thompson, one time when him an' me is alone, 'to any gent between the Rio Grande an' the Oregon, on sizin' up a conversation. An' I'll impart to you, holdin' nothin'

back, that the Colonel is sh.o.r.ely the limit. Merely to listen, is an embarra.s.sment of good things, like openin' a five-hand jack-pot on a ace-full. He can even out-talk my former wife, the Colonel can, an'

that esteemable lady packs the record as a conversationist in Laredo for five years before I leaves. She's admittedly the sh.o.r.est shot with her mouth on that range. Talkin' at a mark, or in action, all you has to do is give the lady the distance an' let her fix her sights once, an' she'll stand thar, without a rest, an' slam observation after observation into the bull's eye till you'll be abashed. An' yet, compared to the Colonel yere, that lady stutters!'

"But now to resoome," said my friend when he had sufficiently come to the rescue of Colonel Sterett and given him his proper place in my estimation; "we'll take up the thread of the Colonel's remarks where I leaves off.

"'My grandfather,' says the Colonel, 'is a gent of iron-bound habits. He has his rooles an' he never transgresses 'em. The first five days of the week, he limits himse'f to fifteen drinks per diem; Sat.u.r.day he rides eight miles down to the village, casts aside restraints, an' goes the distance; Sunday he devotes to meditations.

"'Thar's times when I inclines to the notion that my grandfather possesses partic'lar apt.i.toodes for strong drink. This I'll say without no thoughts of boastin', he's the one lone gent whereof I has a knowledge, who can give a three-ring debauch onder one canvas in one evenin'. As I states, my grandfather, reg'lar every Sat.u.r.day mornin', rides down to the Center, four miles below our house, an'

begins to crook his elbow, keepin' no accounts an' permittin' no compunctions. This, if the old gent is feelin' fit an' likely, keeps up about six hours' at which epock, my grandfather is beginnin' to feel like his laigs is a burden an' walkin' a lost art. That's where the pop'lace gets action. The onlookers, when they notes how my ancestor's laigs that a-way is attemptin' to a.s.soome the soopreme direction of affairs, sort o' c'llects him an' puts him in the saddle. Settin' thar on his hoss, my grandfather is all right. His center of grav'ty is s.h.i.+fted an' located more to his advantage. I esteems it one of them evidences of a sooperior design in the yooniverse, an' a plain proof that things don't come by chance, that long after a gent can't walk none, he's plumb able to ride.

"'Once my grandfather is safe in his saddle, as I relates, he's due- -him an' his hoss, this last bein' an onusual sagacious beast whic he calls his "Sat.u.r.day hoss"--to linger about the streets, an'

collab'rate with the public for mebby five more drinks; followin'

which last libations, he goes rackin' off for "The Hill."

"'Up at our house on Sat.u.r.days, my father allers throws a skirmish line of n.i.g.g.e.rs across the road, with orders to capture my grandfather as he comes romancin' along. An' them faithful servitors never fails. They swarms down on my grandfather, searches him out of the saddle an' packs him exultin'ly an' lovin'ly into camp.

"'Once my grandfather is planted in a cha'r, with a couple of minions on each side to steady the deal, the others begins to line out to fetch reestoratifs. I'm too little to take a trick myse'f, an' I can remember how on them impressif occasions, I would stand an' look at him. I'd think to myse'f--I was mebby eight at the time,--"He's ondoubted the greatest man on earth, but my! how blurred he is!"

"'Which as I states yeretofore, the Sterett system is the patriarchal system, an' one an' all we yields deference to my grandfather as the onchallenged chief of the tribe. To 'll.u.s.trate this: One day my father, who's been tryin' out a two-year-old on our little old quarter-mile track, starts for The Hill, takin' me an' a n.i.g.g.e.r jockey, an' a-leadin' of the said two-year-old racer along.

Once we arrives at my grandfather's, my father leaves us all standin' in the yard and reepairs into the house. The next minute him an' my grandfather comes out. They don't say nothin', but my grandfather goes all over the two-year-old with eyes an' hand for mighty likely ten minutes. At last he straightens up an' turns on my father with a face loaded to the muzzle with rage.

"'"w.i.l.l.yum Greene Sterett," he says, conferrin' on my parent his full name, the same bein' a heap ominous; "w.i.l.l.yum Greene Sterett, you've brought that thing to The Hill to beat my Golddust."

"'"Yes," says my father, mighty steady, "an' I'll go right out on your track now, father, an' let that black boy ride him an' I'll gamble you all a thousand dollars that that two-year-old beats Golddust."

"'" w.i.l.l.yum Greene Sterett," says my grandfather, lookin' at my father an' beginnin' to bile, "I've put up with a heap from you. You was owdacious as a child, worthless as a yooth, an' a spend-thrift as a young man grown; an' a score of times I've paid your debts as was my dooty as the head of the House of Sterett. But you reserves it for your forty-ninth year, an' when I'm in my seventy-ninth year, to perform your crownin' outrage. You've brought that thing to The Hill to beat my Golddust. Now let me tell you somethin', an' it'll be water on your wheel a whole lot, to give heed to that I says. You get onto your hoss, an' you get your child w.i.l.l.yum onto his hoss, an' you get that n.i.g.g.e.r boy onto his hoss, an' you get off this Hill. An' as you go, let me give you this warnin'. If you-all ever makes a moccasin track in the mud of my premises ag'in, I'll fill you full of buckshot."

"'An' as I says, to show the veneration in which my grandfather is held, thar's not another yeep out o' any of us. With my father in the lead, we files out for home; an' tharafter the eepisode is never mentioned.

"'An' now,' says Colonel Sterctt, 'as we-all is about equipped to report joodiciously as to the merits of the speshul cask of Valley Tan we've been samplin', I'll bring my narratif to the closin'

chapters in the life of this grand old man. Thar's this to be observed: The Sterett fam'ly is eminent for two things: it gets everything it needs; an' it never gets it till it needs it. Does it need a gun, or a hoss, or a drink, the Sterett fam'ly proceeds with the round-up. It befalls that when my grandfather pa.s.ses his eightieth year, he decides that he needs religion.

"'" It's about time," he says, "for me to begin layin' up a treasure above. I'm goin' on eighty-one an' my luck can't last forever."

"'So my grandfather he sets up in bed an' he perooses them scriptures for four months. I tell you, gents, he sh.o.r.ely searches that holy book a whole lot. An' then he puts it up he'll be baptized. Also, that he'll enter down into the water an' rise up out of the water like it's blazoned in them texts.

"'Seein' she's Janyooary at the time, with two foot of snow on the ground, it looks like my grandfather will have to postpone them rites. But he couldn't be bluffed. My grandfather reaches out of bed an' he rings that bell I tells you-all of, an' proceeds to convene his n.i.g.g.e.rs. He commands 'em to cut down a big whitewood tree that lives down in the bottoms, hollow out the b.u.t.t log for a trough, an'

haul her up alongside the r'ar veranda.

"'For a week thar's a incessant "chip! chop!" of the axes; an' then with six yoke of steers, the trough is brought into camp. It's long enough an' wide enough an' deep enough to swim a colt.

"'The day for the baptizin' is set, an' the Sterett fam'ly comes trackin' in. Thar's two hundred of 'em, corral count. The whole outfit stands 'round while the water is heatin' for to clip the old gent. My father, who is the dep'ty chief an' next in command, is tyrannizin' about an' a.s.soomin' to deal the game. "Thar's a big fire at which they're heatin' the rocks wherewith to raise the temperatoor of the water. The fire is onder the personal charge of a faithful old n.i.g.g.e.r named Ben. When one of them stones is red hot, Ben takes two sticks for tongs an' drops it into the trough. Thar's a bile an' a buzz an' a geyser of steam, an' now an' then the rock explodes a lot an' sends the water spoutin' to the eaves. It's all plenty thrillin', you can bet! "My father, as I states, is pervadin'

about, so clothed with dignity, bein' after my grandfather the next chicken on the roost, that you can't get near enough to him to borry a plug of tobacco. Once in a while he'd shasee up an' stick his hand in the water. It would be too hot, mebby. "'"Yere, you Ben!" he'd roar. "What be you aimin' at? Do you-all want to kill the old man Do you think you're scaldin' a hawg?" "Then this yere Ben; would get conscience-stricken an' pour in a bar'l or two of cold water. In a minute my father would test it ag'in an' say:

"'"Ben, you sh.o.r.ely are failin' in your intellects. Yere this is as cold as ice; you'll give the old man a chill." "Final, however, the water is declar'd right, an' then out comes a brace of n.i.g.g.e.rs, packin' my grandfather in a blanket, with the preacher preevail. in over all as offishul floor-manager of the festiv'ties. That's how it ends: my grandfather is baptized an' gets religion in his eighty- first year, A. D.; an' two days later he sets in his chips, shoves his cha'r back an' goes shoutin' home.

"'"Be I certain of heaven?" he says to the preacher, when he's down to the turn. "Be I winner accordin' to your rooles an' tenets?"

"'"Your place is provided," says the preacher, that a-way. "'"If it's as good a place as old Kaintucky, they sh.o.r.ely ain't goin' to have no fuss nor trouble with me, an' that's whatever!"'"

CHAPTER X.

How the Dumb Man Rode.

"Now, I don't reckon none," remarked the Old Cattleman with a confidential air, "this yere dumb man' incident ever arises to my mind ag'in, if it ain't for a gent whose trail I cuts while I'm projectin' 'round the post-office for letters.

"It's this mornin', an' I'm gettin' letters, as I states, when I catches this old party sort o' beamin' on me frank an' free, like he's sh.o.r.e a friendly Injun. At last he sa'nters over an' remarks, 'Whatever is your callin', pard?' or some sech bluff as that. "I sees he's good people fast enough; still I allows a small, brief jolt mebby does hire good.

"'Well,' I says, intendin' to let him know I'm alive an' wakeful that a-way; 'well, whatever my callin' is, at least it ain't been no part of my bringin' up to let mere strangers stroll into the corral an' cinch a saddle onto me for a conversational canter, jest because they're disp'sitioned that a-way. "'No offence meant,' says the old party, an' I observes he grows red an' ashamed plumb up to his white ha'r. "Excuse me, amigo," I says, handin' out my paw, which he seizes all radiant an' soon, "I ain't intendin' nothin' blunt, nor to slam no door on better acquaintance, but when you--all ropes at me about what you refers to as my "callin"' that time, I ain't jest lookin' for a stranger to take sech interest in me, an' I'm startled into bein' onp'lite. I tharfore tenders regrets, an', startin' all over, states without reserve that I'm a cow man. "An' now,' I retorts, further, "merely to play my hand out, an' not that I looks to take a trick at all, let me ask what pursoots do you p'int out on as a pretext for livin'?"

"'Me?' says the old party, stabbin' at his s.h.i.+rt bosom with his thumb; 'me? I'm a scientist.' "'Which the news is exhilaratin' an'

interestin',' I says; 'shake ag'in! If thar's one thin-I regyards high, it's a scientist. Whatever partic'lar wagon-track do you-all follow off, may I ask?' "It's then this old gent an' I la'nches into a gen'ral discussion onder the head of mes'lancous business, I reckons, an' lie puts it up his long suit, as he calls it, is 'moral epidemics.' He says he's wrote one book onto 'em, an' sw'ar:; he'll write another if n.o.body heads him off; the same bein' on-likely. As he sees how I'm interested, the old sport sets down an' lays it out to me how sentiments goes in herds an' droves, same as weather an'

things like that. "'Oneday you rolls out in the mornin',' this old gent declar's, 'an' thar you reads how everybody commits sooicide.

Then some other day it's murder, then robbery, an' ag'in, the whole round-up goes to holdin' them church meetin's an' gettin' religion.

Them's waves; moral epidemics,' he says.

"Which this don't look so egreegious none as a statement, neither, an' so after pow-wowin' a lot, all complacent an' genial, I tells the old gent he's got a good game, an' I thinks myse'f his system has p'ints. At this, he admits he's flattered; an' then, as we're gettin' to the ends of our lariats, we tips our sombreros to each other an' lets it go at that. To-morry he's goin' to confer on me his book; which I means to read it, an' then I'll savey more about his little play.

"But," continued my friend, warm with his new philosophy, "this yere is all preelim'nary, an' brings me back to what I remarks at the jump; that what that old gent urges recalls this dumb an' deef man incident; which it sort o' backs his play. It's a time when a pa.s.sel of us gets overcome by waves of sentiment that a-way, an' not only turns a hoss-thief loose entire, after the felon's done been run down, but Boggs waxes that sloppy he lavishes a hoss an' saddle onto him; likewise sympathy, an' wishes him luck.

"The whole racket's that onnacheral I never does quit wonderin'

about it; but now this old science sharp expounds his theory of 'moral epidemics,' it gets cl'ared up in my mind, an' I reckons, as he says, it's sh.o.r.ely one of them waves.

"Tell the story? Thar's nothin' much to said yarn, only the onpreecedented leeniency wherewith we winds it up. In the first place, I don't know what this hoss-thief's name is, for he's plum deef an' dumb, an' ain't sayin' a word. I sees him hoverin' 'round, but I don't say nothin' to him. I observes him once or twice write things to folks he has to talk with on a piece of paper, but it's too slow a racket for me, too much like conversin' by freight that a-way, an' I declines to stand in on it. I don't like to write well enough to go openin' a correspondence with strangers who's deef an'

dumb.

"When he first dawns on the camp, he has money, moderate at least, an' he gets in on poker, an' stud, an' other devices which is open an' common; an' gents who's with him at the time says he has a level notion of hands, an' in the long run, mebby, ama.s.ses a little wealth.

"While I ain't payin' much heed to him, I do hear towards the last of his stay as how he goes broke ag'inst faro-bank. But as gents often goes broke ag'inst faro-bank, an' as, in trooth, I tastes sech reverses once or twice myse'f, the information don't excite me none at the time, nor later on.

"It's mighty likely some little s.p.a.ce since this dumb person hits camp, an' thar's an outfit of us ramblin' 'round in the Red Light, which, so to speak, is the Wolfville Club, an' killin' time by talkin'. Dave Tutt an' Texas Thompson is holdin' forth at each other on the efficacy of pray'r, an' the balance of us is bein' edified.

"It looks like Texas has been tellin' of a Mexican he sees lynched at Laredo one time, an' how a tender gent rings in some orisons before ever they swings him off. Texas objects to them pray'rs an'

brands 'em as hypocrisies. As happens frequent--for both is powerful debaters that a-way--Dave Tutt locks horns with Texas, an' they both prances 'round oratorical at each other mighty entertainin'.

"'Now you gents onderstand,' says Texas Thompson, 'I ain't sayin' a word about them pray'rs as mere supplications. I'm yere to state I regyards 'em as excellent, an' thar's gents at that time present who's experts in sech appeals an' who knows what prayin' is, who allows that for fervency, bottom an' speed, they sh.o.r.ely makes the record for what you might call off-hand pray'rs in Southern Texas.

Thar ain't a preacher short of Waco or Dallas could have turned a smoother trick. But what I complains of is, it's onconsistent.'

"'However is prayin' that a-way onconsistent, I'd sh.o.r.ely like to know?' says Tutt, stackin' in ag'in Texas plenty scornful.

"'Why, this a-way,' says Texas. 'Yere's a gent who a.s.sembles with his peers to hang a Mexican. As a first flash outen the box, he puts up a strong pray'r talk to get this crim'nal by the heavenly gate.