A Knight of the Cumberland - Jr. John Fox (knowledgeable books to read txt) š
- Author: Jr. John Fox
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It was a day to make glad the heart of slave or freeman. The earth was cool from a night-long rain, and a gentle breeze fanned coolness from the north all day long. The clouds were snow-white, tumbling, ever-moving, and between them the sky showed blue and deep. Grass, leaf, weed and flower were in the richness that comes to the green things of the earth just before that full tide of summer whose foam is drifting thistle down. The air was clear and the mountains seemed to have brushed the haze from their faces and drawn nearer that they, too, might better see the doings of that day.
From the four winds of heaven, that morning, came the brave and the free. Up from Lee, down from Little Stone Gap, and from over in Scott, came the valley-farmersāhorseback, in buggies, hacks, two-horse wagons, with wives, mothers, sisters, sweethearts, in white dresses, flowered hats, and many ribbons, and with dinner-baskets stuffed with good things to eatāold ham, young chicken, angel-cake and blackberry wineāto be spread in the sunless shade of great poplar and oak. From Bum Hollow and Wildcat Valley and from up the slopes that lead to Crackerās Neck came smaller tillers of the soilāas yet but faintly marked by the gewgaw trappings of the outer world; while from beyond High Knob, whose crown is in cloud-land, and through the Gap, came the mountaineer in the primitive simplicity of home spun and cowhide, wide-brimmed hat and poke-bonnet, quaint speech, and slouching gait. Through the Gap he came in two streamsāthe Virginians from Crab Orchard and Wise and Dickinson, the Kentuckians from Letcher and feudal Harlan, beyond the Big Blackāand not a man carried a weapon in sight, for the stern spirit of that Police Guard at the Gap was respected wide and far. Into the town, which sits on a plateau some twenty feet above the level of the two rivers that all but encircle it, they poured, hitching their horses in the strip of woods that runs through the heart of the place, and broad ens into a primeval park that, fan-like, opens on the oval level field where all things happen on the Fourth of July. About the street they loiteredālovers hand in handāeating fruit and candy and drinking soda-water, or sat on the curb-stone, mothers with babies at their breasts and toddling children clinging closeāall waiting for the celebration to begin.
It was a great day for the Hon. Samuel Budd. With a cheery smile and beaming goggles, he moved among his constituents, joking with yokels, saying nice things to mothers, paying gallantries to girls, and chucking babies under the chin. He felt popular and he wasāso popular that he had begun to see himself with prophetic eye in a congressional seat at no distant day; and yet, withal, he was not wholly happy.
āDo you know,ā he said, āthem fellers I made bets with in the tournament got together this morning and decided, all of āem, that they wouldnāt let me off? Jerusalem, itās most five hundred dollars!ā And, looking the picture of dismay, he told me his dilemma. It seems that his ādark horseā was none other than the Wild Dog, who had been practising at home for this tournament for nearly a year; and now that the Wild Dog was an outlaw, he, of course, wouldnāt and couldnāt come to the Gap. And said the Hon. Sam Budd:
āThem fellers says I bet Iād BRING IN a dark horse who would win this tournament, and if I donāt BRING him in, I lose just the same as though I had brought him in and he hadnāt won. Anā I reckon theyāve got me.ā
āI guess they have.ā
āIt would have been like pickinā money off a blackberry-bush, for I was goinā to let the Wild Dog have that black horse oā mineāthe steadiest and fastest runner in this countryāand my, how that fellow can pick off the rings! Heās been a-practising for a year, and I believe he could run the point oā that spear of his through a ladyās finger-ring.ā
āYouād better get somebody else.ā
āAhāthatās it. The Wild Dog sent word heād send over another feller, named Dave Branham, who has been practising with him, whoās just as good, he says, as he is. Iām looking for him at twelve oāclock, anā Iām goinā to take him down anā see what he can do on that black horse oā mine. But if heās no good, I lose five hundred, all right,ā and he sloped away to his duties. For it was the Hon. Sam who was master of ceremonies that day. He was due now to read the Declaration of Independence in a poplar grove to all who would listen; he was to act as umpire at the championship base-ball game in the afternoon, and he was to give the āChargeā to the assembled knights before the tournament.
At ten oāclock the games beganāand I took the Blight and the little sister down to the āgrandstandāāseveral tiers of backless benches with leaves for a canopy and the river singing through rhododendrons behind. There was jumping broad and high, and a 100-yard dash and hurdling and throwing the hammer, which the Blight said were not interestingāthey were too much like college sportsāand she wanted to see the base-ball game and the tournament. And yet Marston was in them allādogged and resistlessāhis teeth set and his eyes anywhere but lifted toward the Blight, who secretly proud, as I believed, but openly defiant, mentioned not his name even when he lost, which was twice only.
āPretty good, isnāt he?ā I said.
āWho?ā she said indifferently.
āOh, nobody,ā I said, turning to smile, but not turning quickly enough.
āWhatās the matter with you?ā asked the Blight sharply.
āNothing, nothing at all,ā I said, and straightway the Blight thought she wanted to go home. The thunder of the Declaration was still rumbling in the poplar grove.
āThatās the Hon. Sam Budd,ā I said.
āDonāt you want to hear him?ā
āI donāt care who it is and I donāt want to hear him and I think you are hateful.ā
Ah, dear me, it was more serious than I thought. There were tears in her eyes, and I led the Blight and the little sister homeā conscience-stricken and humbled. Still I would find that young jackanapes of an engineer and let him know that anybody who made the Blight unhappy must deal with me. I would take him by the neck and pound some sense into him. I found him lofty, uncommunicative, perfectly alien to any consciousness that I could have any knowledge of what was going or any right to poke my nose into anybodyās businessā and I did nothing except go back to lunch āto find the Blight upstairs and the little sister indignant with me.
āYou just let them alone,ā she said severely.
āLet who alone?ā I said, lapsing into the speech of childhood.
āYouājustāletāthemāalone,ā she repeated.
āIāve already made up my mind to that.ā
āWell, then!ā she said, with an air of satisfaction, but why I donāt know.
I went back to the poplar grove. The Declaration was over and the crowd was gone, but there was the Hon. Samuel Budd, mopping his brow with one hand, slapping his thigh with the other, and all but executing a pigeon-wing on the turf. He turned goggles on me that literally shone triumph.
āHeās comeāDave Branhamās come!ā he said. āHeās better than the Wild Dog. Iāve been trying him on the black horse and, Lord, how he can take them rings off! Ha, wonāt I get into them fellows who wouldnāt let me off this morning! Oh, yes, I agreed to bring in a dark horse, and Iāll bring him in all right. That five hundred is in my clothes now. You see that point yonder? Well, thereās a hollow there and bushes all around. Thatās where Iām going to dress him. Iāve got his clothes all right and a name for him. This thing is a-goinā to come off accordinā to Hoyle, Ivanhoe, Four-Quarters-of-Beef, and all them mediaeval fellows. Just watch me!ā
I began to get newly interested, for that knightās name I suddenly recalled. Little Buck, the Wild Dogās brother, had mentioned him, when we were over in the Kentucky hills, as practising with the Wild Dogāas being āmighty good, but nowhar ālongside oā Mart.ā So the Hon. Sam might have a good substitute, after all, and being a devoted disciple of Sir Walter, I knew his knight would rival, in splendor, at least, any that rode with King Arthur in days of old.
The Blight was very quiet at lunch, as was the little sister, and my effort to be jocose was a lamentable failure. So I gave news.
āThe Hon. Sam has a substitute.ā No curiosity and no question.
āWhoādid you say? Why, Dave Branham, a friend of the Wild Dog. Donāt you remember Buck telling us about him?ā No answer. āWell, I doāand, by the way, I saw Buck and one of the big sisters just a while ago. Her name is Mollie. Dave Branham, you will recall, is her sweetheart. The other big sister had to stay at home with her mother and little Cindy, whoās sick. Of course, I didnāt ask them about Martāthe Wild Dog. They knew I knew and they wouldnāt have liked it. The Wild Dogās around, I understand, but he wonāt dare show his face. Every policeman in town is on the lookout for him.ā I thought the Blightās face showed a signal of relief.
āIām going to play short-stop,ā I added.
āOh!ā said the Blight, with a smile, but the little sister said with some scorn:
āYou!ā
āIāll show you,ā I said, and I told the Blight about base-ball at the Gap. We had introduced base-ball into the region and the valley boys and mountain boys, being swift runners, throwing like a rifle shot from constant practice with stones, and being hard as nails, caught the game quickly and with great ease. We beat them all the time at first, but now they were beginning to beat us. We had a league now, and this was the championship game for the pennant.
āIt was right funny the first time we beat a native team. Of course, we got together and cheered āem. They thought we were cheering ourselves, so they got red in the face, rushed together and whooped it up for themselves for about half an hour.ā
The Blight almost laughed.
āWe used to have to carry our guns around with us at first when we went to other places, and we came near having several fights.ā
āOh!ā said the Blight excitedly. āDo you think there might be a fight this afternoon?ā
āDonāt know,ā I said, shaking my head. āItās pretty hard for eighteen people to fight when nine of them are policemen and there are forty more around. Still the crowd might take a hand.ā
This, I saw, quite thrilled the Blight and she was in good spirits when we started out.
āMarston doesnāt pitch this afternoon,ā I said to the little sister. āHe plays first base. Heās saving himself for the tournament. Heās done
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