Part 38 (2/2)
supper; an' then in the night, I'll change yo' pillow every time it gits too wet fur you.”
”Gracious me, I don't want to cry that bad,” Mrs. Barker replied.
”There's a time for all things, an' I'm from a fightin' fam'ly, too, I'll give you to understand. Have you got any right young pigs? If you have, suppose we kill one an' roast it--'twon't take long.”
This suggestion met with approval, and with the help of Kintchin, h.e.l.loaed out of a nap behind the smoke-house, a pig was slaughtered and barbecued. In Old Jasper's house that night there was a feast--a strange picture, three old women at table and an old negro, with watery mouth, standing in the door.
With the coming of daylight Margaret arose while yet the others slept, and breakfast was ready with the rising of the sun.
”You must be plannin' a big day's work,” said Mrs. Spencer, and Margaret replied: ”Yes, for I can't see the end of it. Kintchin, ketch the gray mare an' put the side saddle on her. An' now, you folks kin stay here jest as long as you please.”
”Why, where air you goin'?” Mrs. Barker inquired; and Margaret, putting a pistol in the pocket of her dress, dropped a courtesy and said:
”To the jail.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
A TRIP NOT WITHOUT INCIDENT.
With a few silver dollars in her pocket, c.h.i.n.king against the steel of her pistol, Margaret jogged along the road. In observation the mountaineer is always minute; each day is a volume unto itself, and in this book abound many pictures. In a thorn-bush the old woman saw a mocking-bird feeding her young; in the dust she saw where a snake had smoothed his way across the road. She halted to look at a bare-legged boy, who with his straw hat was seining a rivulet.
Telling the time by the sun, she dismounted at noon and in the shade of a wild plum thicket, ate her luncheon, while the mare cropped the sweet road-side gra.s.s. But it was not intended that her journey should be without event. Along toward four o'clock she came to a bridge across a small stream. The planks were worn with heavy hauling--the whole thing dangerous, and into a hole the mare's foot sank. She floundered, fell, and when Margaret, unhurt, arose out of the dust, she saw with horror that the poor creature's leg was broken. The mare floundered to the road-side and then in misery sank upon the ground.
”Poor old friend,” said the woman, with sorrow in her voice, tears streaming from her eyes, but in her hand was the pistol. ”Good-bye, an'
don't hold this ag'in me fur it's all I can do.” Close to the horse's head she held the barrel of the pistol--fired, and without looking, resumed on foot her solitary way. A few miles further on she halted at a tavern, hoping that by spending the night, morning might bring along a friendly wagon, going her road; and she waited until the sun was high, and then set out on foot. But along toward ten o'clock she was overtaken by a huckster in a cart. She asked him to let her ride and he drew up, but looked suspiciously at her.
”I asked you to let me ride, if you please. I had to kill my po' mare 'way back yander--broke her leg in a bridge.”
”What sort of a mare?”
”Gray--one of the best old nags I ever saw.”
”Well, where air you goin'?”
”To Nashville. Will you let me ride?”
”Got business down there, I take it.”
”Yes, or I wouldn't want to go.”
”I don't know about that. Women folks goes a good many places where they hain't got no business. Ain't a runnin' away from yo' old man, air you?”
”No, I'm goin' to him.”
”Huh, he run away frum you. Is that it?”
”No, they tuck him away. Air you goin' to let me ride?”
”Tuck him away for what?”
”They have accused him of makin' wild-cat licker.”
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