Part 18 (2/2)

”Judge, don't you give him that air paper yit. 'Tain't all settled, nohow. I got to have my rights first. I got to have my ali-money.

'Tain't no kind of a way to do fur a man to divo'ce his wife 'thout her havin' a cent fur to do with. I'm a-layin' off to be a-goin' up to brother Ed's up on Hogback Mount'in. I'm bound fur to hev a pa'r of shoes and some snuff and things besides. Ef Rance kin affo'd a divo'ce, let him pay me ali-money.”

Ransie Bilbro was stricken to dumb perplexity. There had been no previous hint of alimony. Women were always bringing up startling and unlooked-for issues.

Justice Benaja Widdup felt that the point demanded judicial decision.

The authorities were also silent on the subject of alimony. But the woman's feet were bare. The trail to Hogback Mountain was steep and flinty.

”Ariela Bilbro,” he asked, in official tones, ”how much did you 'low would be good and sufficient ali-money in the case befo' the co't.”

”I 'lowed,” she answered, ”fur the shoes and all, to say five dollars.

That ain't much fur ali-money, but I reckon that'll git me to up brother Ed's.”

”The amount,” said the Justice, ”air not onreasonable. Ransie Bilbro, you air ordered by the co't to pay the plaintiff the sum of five dollars befo' the decree of divo'ce air issued.”

”I hain't no mo' money,” breathed Ransie, heavily. ”I done paid you all I had.”

”Otherwise,” said the Justice, looking severely over his spectacles, ”you air in contempt of co't.”

”I reckon if you gimme till to-morrow,” pleaded the husband, ”I mout be able to rake or sc.r.a.pe it up somewhars. I never looked for to be a-payin' no ali-money.”

”The case air adjourned,” said Benaja Widdup, ”till to-morrow, when you-all will present yo'selves and obey the order of the co't.

Followin' of which the decrees of divo'ce will be delivered.” He sat down in the door and began to loosen a shoestring.

”We mout as well go down to Uncle Ziah's,” decided Ransie, ”and spend the night.” He climbed into the cart on one side, and Ariela climbed in on the other. Obeying the flap of his rope, the little red bull slowly came around on a tack, and the cart crawled away in the nimbus arising from its wheels.

Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup smoked his elder-stem pipe. Late in the afternoon he got his weekly paper, and read it until the twilight dimmed its lines. Then he lit the tallow candle on his table, and read until the moon rose, marking the time for supper. He lived in the double log cabin on the slope near the girdled poplar.

Going home to supper he crossed a little branch darkened by a laurel thicket. The dark figure of a man stepped from the laurels and pointed a rifle at his breast. His hat was pulled down low, and something covered most of his face.

”I want yo' money,” said the figure, ”'thout any talk. I'm gettin'

nervous, and my finger's a-wabblin' on this here trigger.”

”I've only got f-f-five dollars,” said the Justice, producing it from his vest pocket.

”Roll it up,” came the order, ”and stick it in the end of this here gun-bar'l.”

The bill was crisp and new. Even fingers that were clumsy and trembling found little difficulty in making a spill of it and inserting it (this with less ease) into the muzzle of the rifle.

”Now I reckon you kin be goin' along,” said the robber.

The Justice lingered not on his way.

The next day came the little red bull, drawing the cart to the office door. Justice Benaja Widdup had his shoes on, for he was expecting the visit. In his presence Ransie Bilbro handed to his wife a five-dollar bill. The official's eye sharply viewed it.

It seemed to curl up as though it had been rolled and inserted into the end of a gun-barrel. But the Justice refrained from comment.

It is true that other bills might be inclined to curl. He handed each one a decree of divorce. Each stood awkwardly silent, slowly folding the guarantee of freedom. The woman cast a shy glance full of constraint at Ransie.

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