Part 37 (1/2)

”Nothin' wu'th dividin' 'cept Mose Blake fell into the river yistidy an'

was drownded.”

”What, you don't tell me so?” the old man exclaimed.

”Yes, couldn't swim a lick atter he struck the water an thar wan't no use in tryin' befo' he struck.”

”Powerful sorry to hear it,” said Jasper. ”Good feller--worst habit of his was always tryin' to talk when he couldn't.”

”Yep. But he ain't tryin' of it now.”

”I am also sorry he's dead,” said Foster. ”We were going to take him down to town with us.”

”No use to take him now,” Laz replied; and a silence fell, broken only when they turned back into the highway, when the lout of a driver, impressed in the neighborhood, remarked to Laz:

”I reckon you air as about as big a liar as they kin set up. Here comes Mose Blake now.”

”Hah!” exclaimed Foster. ”A good backwoods trick. Round him up, boys.”

The stutterer was dressed in his best, on his way to pay stammering court to a girl. He strove to explain that he couldn't go with them, but the officers laughed at his attempts to talk, compelled him to get in, and drove on.

At night they camped near a spring, beneath a walnut tree, the officers standing turn about while the prisoners slept; and early the next morning they resumed their rumbling journey.

As they were now out of the neighborhood range of the two boys, everything began to possess a keen interest for them, the houses, cattle and even the dogs that ran along the yard fences to bark at the wagon.

Just before sunset they saw from afar the capitol dome, the mausoleum of Stricklin, who built many state houses, constructing in each one a tomb for himself. Years had pa.s.sed since Jasper, a battle-smoked and bleeding soldier, had trod up to that lofty pile of rock to receive his discharge from the ranks; and desolate, with no drum and no fife to march back to his wretched home. To him the scene was heart-heavy with memories, but to the boys it was the first glimpse of that great and mysterious life lying far beyond their native hills.

”I reckon the man that lives in thar could go to a sale up whar we live an' buy every wagin an' team on the place,” said Laz, pointing toward the fading state-house, and Mose replied:

”Reckon h--h--h--he could t--t--t--talk all day without a h--h--hitch.”

”Whar do we sleep to-night, with some of the neighbors?” Laz inquired, and Foster laughed.

”You sleep,” said he, with an old joke, ”in a house that will keep the dogs from coming in and biting you.”

”You mean the jail?”

”Yes, that's what I mean. We'll have to keep you close till we get through with you.”

”Is that the law?”

”Yes, as we understand it.”

”Wall, then, I may not have to shoot you the fust time I meet you in the big road. Got a good artickle of pie thar in the kitchin?”

”You shall have all the pie you want.”

Then Mose began: ”Ef t--t--t--that's the case you m--m--m--mout drive a l--l--little faster. An' p--p--p--pound cake?”

”Yes, you may have some of that, too.”