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.And nice cow-brutes in his barns, and goodhogs and chickens in his pens, and money in the bank down yonder at the county seat.Mr.Absalom willfeed ary hungry neighbor, or tend ary sick one, saving he's had a quarrel with them, like the quarrel withMr.Troy Holcomb. "What for did they quarrel, John?""Over something Mr.Troy said wasn't so, and Mr.Absalom said was.I'll come to that."john the balladeer 117That farm is Mr.Absalom's pride and delight.Mr.Troy's place next door isn't so good, though goodenough.Mr.Absalom looked over to Mr.Troy's, the day I mention, and grinned in his big thick-ettybeard, like a king's beard in a history-book picture.If it sor-rowed him to be out with Mr.Troy, hedidn't show it.All that sorrowed him, maybe, was his boy, Little Anse crippled ever since he'd fallenoff the jolt-wagon and it ran over his legs so he couldn't walk, couldn't crawl hardly without the crutcheshis daddy had made for him.It was around noon when Mr.Absalom grinned his tiger grin from his front yard over toward Mr.Troy's, then looked up to study if maybe a few clouds didn't mean weather coming.He needed rain fromheaven.It wondered him if a certain somebody wasn't witching it off from his place.Witch-men are themeanest folks God ever forgot.Looking up thataway, Mr.Absalom wasn't aware of a man coming till hesaw him close in sight above the road's curve, a stranger-fellow with a tool chest on his shoulder.Thestranger stopped at Mr.Absalom's mail box and gave him a good day."And good day to you," Mr.Absalom said, stroking his beard where it bannered onto his chest."Whatcan I do for you?""It's what can I do for you," the stranger replied him back."I had in mind that maybe there's somework here for me.""Well," said Mr.Absalom, relishing the way the stranger looked.He was near about as tall as Mr.Absalom's own self, but no way as thick built, nor as old.Maybe inhis thirties, and neat dressed in work clothes, with brown hah" combed back.He had a knowledge lookin his face, but nothing secret.The shoulder that carried the tool chest was a square, strong shoulder."You ain't some jack-leg carpenter?" said Mr.Absalom."No.I learned my trade young, and I learned it right.""That's bold spoken, friend.""I just say that I'm skilled."Those words sounded right and true."I like to get out in the country to work," the carpenter-man said on."No job too big or too small forme to try.""Well," said Mr.Absalom again, "so happens I've got a strange-like job needs doing.""And no job too strange," the carpenter added.Mr.Absalom led him around back, past the chicken run and the118 Manly Wade Wellmanhog lot.A path ran there, worn years deep by folks' feet.But, some way past the house, the path waschopped off short.Between Mr.Absalom's side yard and the next place was a ditch, not wide but deep and strong, withwater tumbling down from the heights behind.Nobody could call for any plainer mark betwixt two men'splaces."See that house yonder?" Mr.Absalom pointed with his bearded chin."The square-log place with the shake roof? Yes, I see it.""That's Troy Holcomb's place.""Yes.""My land," and Mr.Absalom waved a thick arm to show, "ter-races back off thataway, and his landterraces off the other direction.We helped each other do the terracing.We were friends.""The path shows you were friends," said the carpenter."The ditch shows you aren't friends any more.""You just bet your neck we ain't friends any more," said Mr.Absalom, and his beard crawled on hisjaw as he set his mouth."What's wrong with Troy Holcomb?" asked the carpenter. "Oh, nothing.Nothing that a silver bullet might not fix." Mr.Absalom pointed downhill."Look at thefield below the road."The carpenter looked."Seems like a good piece of land.Ought to be a crop growing there."Now Mr.Absalom's teeth twinkled through his beard, like stars through storm clouds."A court of lawgave me that field.Troy Holcomb and I both laid claim to it, but the court said I was in the right.Thecorn I planted was blighted to death.""Been quite a much of blight this season," said the carpenter."Yes, down valley, but not up here." Mr.Absalom glittered his eyes toward the house across the ditch."A curse was put on my field.And who'd have reason to put a curse on, from some hateful oldwitch-book or other, but Troy Holcomb? I told him to his face.He denied the truth of that.""Of course he'd deny it," said the carpenter."Shoo, John, is Mr.Troy Holcomb a witch-man? I never heard that.""I'm just telling what Mr.Absalom said.Well:"john the balladeer 119"If he was a foot higher, I'd have hit him on top of his head," grumbled Mr.Absalom."We haven'tspoken since.And you know what he's done?""He dug this ditch." The carpenter looked into the running water."To show he doesn't want the path tojoin your place to his any more.""You hit it right," snorted Mr.Absalom, like a mean horse."Did he reckon I'd go there to beg hispardon or something? Do I look like that kind of a puppy-man?""Are you glad not to be friends with him?" the carpenter inquired his own question, looking at thesquared-log house."Ain't studying about that," said Mr.Absalom."I'm studying to match this dig-ditch job he did againstme.Look yonder at that lumber."The carpenter looked at a stack of posts, a pile of boards."He cut me off with a ditch.If you want work, build me a fence along this side of his ditch, from theroad down there up to where my back-yard line runs." Mr.Absalom pointed up slope."How long willthat take you?"The carpenter set down his tool chest and figured in his head.Then: "I could do you something topleasure you by supper time.""Quick as that?" Mr.Absalom looked at him sharp, for he'd reckoned the fence job might taketwo-three days."You got it thought out to be a little old small piece of work, huh?""Nothing too big or too small for me to try," said the carpenter again."You can say whether it suitsyou.""Do what I want, and I'll pay you worth your while," Mr.Absa-lom granted him."I'm heading up tomy far corn patch.Before sundown I'll come look." He started away."But it's got to suit me.""It will," the carpenter made promise, and opened his chest.Like any lone working man, he started out to whistle.His whistling carried all the way to Mr.Absalom's house.And inside, on the front room couch, layLittle Anse.You all know how Little Anse couldn't hardly stand on his poor swunk up legs, even with crutches.Itwas pitiful to see him scuff a crutch out, then the other, then lean on them and swing his little feetbetween.He'd scuff and swing again, inching along.But Little Anse didn't pity himself.He wascheerful-minded, laughing at what trifles he could find.Mr.Absalom had had him to one doctor after an-120 Manly Wade Wellmanother, and none could bid him hope [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.And nice cow-brutes in his barns, and goodhogs and chickens in his pens, and money in the bank down yonder at the county seat.Mr.Absalom willfeed ary hungry neighbor, or tend ary sick one, saving he's had a quarrel with them, like the quarrel withMr.Troy Holcomb. "What for did they quarrel, John?""Over something Mr.Troy said wasn't so, and Mr.Absalom said was.I'll come to that."john the balladeer 117That farm is Mr.Absalom's pride and delight.Mr.Troy's place next door isn't so good, though goodenough.Mr.Absalom looked over to Mr.Troy's, the day I mention, and grinned in his big thick-ettybeard, like a king's beard in a history-book picture.If it sor-rowed him to be out with Mr.Troy, hedidn't show it.All that sorrowed him, maybe, was his boy, Little Anse crippled ever since he'd fallenoff the jolt-wagon and it ran over his legs so he couldn't walk, couldn't crawl hardly without the crutcheshis daddy had made for him.It was around noon when Mr.Absalom grinned his tiger grin from his front yard over toward Mr.Troy's, then looked up to study if maybe a few clouds didn't mean weather coming.He needed rain fromheaven.It wondered him if a certain somebody wasn't witching it off from his place.Witch-men are themeanest folks God ever forgot.Looking up thataway, Mr.Absalom wasn't aware of a man coming till hesaw him close in sight above the road's curve, a stranger-fellow with a tool chest on his shoulder.Thestranger stopped at Mr.Absalom's mail box and gave him a good day."And good day to you," Mr.Absalom said, stroking his beard where it bannered onto his chest."Whatcan I do for you?""It's what can I do for you," the stranger replied him back."I had in mind that maybe there's somework here for me.""Well," said Mr.Absalom, relishing the way the stranger looked.He was near about as tall as Mr.Absalom's own self, but no way as thick built, nor as old.Maybe inhis thirties, and neat dressed in work clothes, with brown hah" combed back.He had a knowledge lookin his face, but nothing secret.The shoulder that carried the tool chest was a square, strong shoulder."You ain't some jack-leg carpenter?" said Mr.Absalom."No.I learned my trade young, and I learned it right.""That's bold spoken, friend.""I just say that I'm skilled."Those words sounded right and true."I like to get out in the country to work," the carpenter-man said on."No job too big or too small forme to try.""Well," said Mr.Absalom again, "so happens I've got a strange-like job needs doing.""And no job too strange," the carpenter added.Mr.Absalom led him around back, past the chicken run and the118 Manly Wade Wellmanhog lot.A path ran there, worn years deep by folks' feet.But, some way past the house, the path waschopped off short.Between Mr.Absalom's side yard and the next place was a ditch, not wide but deep and strong, withwater tumbling down from the heights behind.Nobody could call for any plainer mark betwixt two men'splaces."See that house yonder?" Mr.Absalom pointed with his bearded chin."The square-log place with the shake roof? Yes, I see it.""That's Troy Holcomb's place.""Yes.""My land," and Mr.Absalom waved a thick arm to show, "ter-races back off thataway, and his landterraces off the other direction.We helped each other do the terracing.We were friends.""The path shows you were friends," said the carpenter."The ditch shows you aren't friends any more.""You just bet your neck we ain't friends any more," said Mr.Absalom, and his beard crawled on hisjaw as he set his mouth."What's wrong with Troy Holcomb?" asked the carpenter. "Oh, nothing.Nothing that a silver bullet might not fix." Mr.Absalom pointed downhill."Look at thefield below the road."The carpenter looked."Seems like a good piece of land.Ought to be a crop growing there."Now Mr.Absalom's teeth twinkled through his beard, like stars through storm clouds."A court of lawgave me that field.Troy Holcomb and I both laid claim to it, but the court said I was in the right.Thecorn I planted was blighted to death.""Been quite a much of blight this season," said the carpenter."Yes, down valley, but not up here." Mr.Absalom glittered his eyes toward the house across the ditch."A curse was put on my field.And who'd have reason to put a curse on, from some hateful oldwitch-book or other, but Troy Holcomb? I told him to his face.He denied the truth of that.""Of course he'd deny it," said the carpenter."Shoo, John, is Mr.Troy Holcomb a witch-man? I never heard that.""I'm just telling what Mr.Absalom said.Well:"john the balladeer 119"If he was a foot higher, I'd have hit him on top of his head," grumbled Mr.Absalom."We haven'tspoken since.And you know what he's done?""He dug this ditch." The carpenter looked into the running water."To show he doesn't want the path tojoin your place to his any more.""You hit it right," snorted Mr.Absalom, like a mean horse."Did he reckon I'd go there to beg hispardon or something? Do I look like that kind of a puppy-man?""Are you glad not to be friends with him?" the carpenter inquired his own question, looking at thesquared-log house."Ain't studying about that," said Mr.Absalom."I'm studying to match this dig-ditch job he did againstme.Look yonder at that lumber."The carpenter looked at a stack of posts, a pile of boards."He cut me off with a ditch.If you want work, build me a fence along this side of his ditch, from theroad down there up to where my back-yard line runs." Mr.Absalom pointed up slope."How long willthat take you?"The carpenter set down his tool chest and figured in his head.Then: "I could do you something topleasure you by supper time.""Quick as that?" Mr.Absalom looked at him sharp, for he'd reckoned the fence job might taketwo-three days."You got it thought out to be a little old small piece of work, huh?""Nothing too big or too small for me to try," said the carpenter again."You can say whether it suitsyou.""Do what I want, and I'll pay you worth your while," Mr.Absa-lom granted him."I'm heading up tomy far corn patch.Before sundown I'll come look." He started away."But it's got to suit me.""It will," the carpenter made promise, and opened his chest.Like any lone working man, he started out to whistle.His whistling carried all the way to Mr.Absalom's house.And inside, on the front room couch, layLittle Anse.You all know how Little Anse couldn't hardly stand on his poor swunk up legs, even with crutches.Itwas pitiful to see him scuff a crutch out, then the other, then lean on them and swing his little feetbetween.He'd scuff and swing again, inching along.But Little Anse didn't pity himself.He wascheerful-minded, laughing at what trifles he could find.Mr.Absalom had had him to one doctor after an-120 Manly Wade Wellmanother, and none could bid him hope [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]