Part 3 (1/2)
IV. CLOSE QUARTERS
Two hours up the river we struck Buck. Buck was sitting on the fence by the roadside, barefooted and hatless.
”How-dye-do?” I said.
”Purty well,” said Buck.
”Any fish in this river?”
”Several,” said Buck. Now in mountain speech, ”several” means simply ”a good many.”
”Any minnows in these branches?”
”I seed several in the branch back o' our house.”
”How far away do you live?”
”Oh, 'bout one whoop an' a holler.” If he had spoken Greek the Blight could not have been more puzzled. He meant he lived as far as a man's voice would carry with one yell and a holla.
”Will you help me catch some?” Buck nodded.
”All right,” I said, turning my horse up to the fence. ”Get on behind.”
The horse s.h.i.+ed his hind quarters away, and I pulled him back.
”Now, you can get on, if you'll be quick.” Buck sat still.
”Yes,” he said imperturbably; ”but I ain't quick.” The two girls laughed aloud, and Buck looked surprised.
Around a curving cornfield we went, and through a meadow which Buck said was a ”nigh cut.” From the limb of a tree that we pa.s.sed hung a piece of wire with an iron ring swinging at its upturned end. A little farther was another tree and another ring, and farther on another and another.
”For heaven's sake, Buck, what are these things?”
”Mart's a-gittin' ready fer a tourneyment.”
”A what?”
”That's whut Mart calls. .h.i.t. He was over to the Gap last Fourth o' July, an' he says fellers over thar fix up like Kuklux and go a-chargin' on hosses and takin' off them rings with a ash-stick--'spear,' Mart calls. .h.i.t. He come back an' he says he's a-goin' to win that ar tourneyment next Fourth o' July. He's got the best hoss up this river, and on Sundays him an' Dave Branham goes a-chargin' along here a-picking off these rings jus' a-flyin'; an' Mart can do hit, I'm tellin' ye. Dave's mighty good hisself, but he ain't nowhar 'longside o' Mart.”
This was strange. I had told the Blight about our Fourth of July, and how on the Virginia side the ancient custom of the tournament still survived. It was on the last Fourth of July that she had meant to come to the Gap. Truly civilization was spreading throughout the hills.
”Who's Mart?”
”Mart's my brother,” said little Buck.
”He was over to the Gap not long ago, an' he come back mad as hops--” He stopped suddenly, and in such a way that I turned my head, knowing that caution had caught Buck.
”What about?”
”Oh, nothin',” said Buck carelessly; ”only he's been quar ever since.