Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories(萨顿的故事)

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Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories

Hell Fer Sartain & Other

Stories

By John Fox, Jr.

Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories

ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN

CREEK

Thar was a dancin'-party Christmas night on ``Hell fer Sartain.'' Jes

tu'n up the fust crick beyond the bend thar, an' climb onto a stump, an'

holler about ONCE, an' you'll see how the name come. Stranger, hit's

HELL fer sartain! Well, Rich Harp was thar from the head- waters, an'

Harve Hall toted Nance Osborn clean across the Cumberlan'. Fust one ud

swing Nance, an' then t'other. Then they'd take a pull out'n the same

bottle o' moonshine, an'--fust one an' then t'other--they'd swing her agin.

An' Abe Shivers a-settin' thar by the fire a-bitin' his thumbs!

Well, things was sorter whoopin', when somebody ups an' tells Harve

that Rich had said somep'n' agin Nance an' him, an' somebody ups an' tells

Rich that Harve had said somep'n' agin Nance an' HIM. In a minute,

stranger, hit was like two wild-cats in thar. Folks got 'em parted, though,

but thar was no more a-swingin' of Nance that night. Harve toted her

back over the Cumberlan', an' Rich's kinsfolks tuk him up ``Hell fer

Sartain''; but Rich got loose, an' lit out lickety-split fer Nance Osborn's.

He knowed Harve lived too fer over Black Mountain to go home that night,

an' he rid right across the river an' up to Nance's house, an' hollered fer

Harve. Harve poked his head out'n the loft--he knowed whut was

wanted--an' Harve says, ``Uh, come in hyeh an' go to bed. Hit's too late!''

An' Rich seed him a-gapin' like a chicken, an' in he walked, stumblin'

might' nigh agin the bed whar Nance was a-layin', listenin' an' not sayin' a

word.

Stranger, them two fellers slept together plum frien'ly, an' they et

together plum frien'ly next mornin', an' they sa'ntered down to the grocery

plum frien'ly. An' Rich says, ``Harve,'' says he, ``let's have a drink.''

``All right, Rich,'' says Harve. An' Rich says, ``Harve,'' says he, ``you go

out'n that door an' I'll go out'n this door.'' ``All right, Rich,'' says Harve,

an' out they walked, steady, an' thar was two shoots shot, an' Rich an'

Harve both drapped, an' in ten minutes they was stretched out on Nance's

Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories

bed an' Nance was a-lopin' away fer the yarb doctor.

The gal nussed 'em both plum faithful. Rich didn't hev much to say,

an' Harve didn't hev much to say. Nance was sorter quiet, an' Nance's

mammy, ole Nance, jes grinned. Folks come in to ax atter 'em right peart.

Abe Shivers come cl'ar 'cross the river--powerful frien'ly--an' ever' time

Nance ud walk out to the fence with him. One time she didn't come back,

an' ole Nance fotched the boys thar dinner, an' ole Nance fotched thar

supper, an' then Rich he axed whut was the matter with young Nance.

An' ole Nance jes snorted. Atter a while Rich says: ``Harve,'' says he,

``who tol' you that I said that word agin you an' Nance?'' ``Abe Shivers,''

says Harve. ``An' who tol' you,'' says Harve, ``that I said that word agin

Nance an' YOU?'' ``Abe Shivers,'' says Rich. An' both says, ``Well,

damn me!'' An' Rich tu'ned right over an' begun pullin' straws out'n the

bed. He got two out, an' he bit one off, an' he says: ``Harve,'' says he,

``I reckon we better draw fer him. The shortes' gits him.'' An' they

drawed. Well, nobody ever knowed which got the shortes' straw, stranger,

but--

Thar'll be a dancin'-party comin' Christmas night on ``Hell fer Sartain.''

Rich Harp 'll be thar from the head- waters. Harve Hall's a-goin' to tote

the Widder Shivers clean across the Cumberlan'. Fust one 'll swing

Nance, an' then t'other. Then they'll take a pull out'n the same bottle o'

moonshine, an'--fust one an' then t'other-- they'll swing her agin, jes the

same. ABE won't be thar. He's a-settin' by a bigger fire, I reckon (ef he

ain't in it), a-bitin' his thumbs!

Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories

THROUGH THE GAP

When thistles go adrift, the sun sets down the valley between the hills;

when snow comes, it goes down behind the Cumberland and streams

through a great fissure that people call the Gap. Then the last light

drenches the parson's cottage under Imboden Hill, and leaves an after-

glow of glory on a majestic heap that lies against the east. Sometimes it

spans the Gap with a rainbow.

Strange people and strange tales come through this Gap from the

Kentucky hills. Through it came these two, late one day--a man and a

woman-- afoot. I met them at the foot- bridge over Roaring Fork.

``Is thar a preacher anywhar aroun' hyeh?'' he asked. I pointed to the

cottage under Imboden Hill. The girl flushed slightly and turned her

head away with a rather unhappy smile. Without a word, the

mountaineer led the way towards town. A moment more and a half-breed

Malungian passed me on the bridge and followed them.

At dusk the next day I saw the mountaineer chopping wood at a shanty

under a clump of rhododendron on the river-bank. The girl was cooking

supper inside. The day following he was at work on the railroad, and on

Sunday, after church, I saw the parson. The two had not been to him.

Only that afternoon the mountaineer was on the bridge with another

woman, hideously rouged and with scarlet ribbons fluttering from her

bonnet. Passing on by the shanty, I saw the Malungian talking to the girl.

She apparently paid no heed to him until, just as he was moving away, he

said something mockingly, and with a nod of his head back towards the

bridge. She did not look up even then, but her face got hard and white,

and, looking back from the road, I saw her slipping through the bushes

into the dry bed of the creek, to make sure that what the half-breed told her

was true.

The two men were working side by side on the railroad when I saw

them again, but on the first pay-day the doctor was called to attend the

Malungian, whose head was split open with a shovel. I was one of two

who went out to arrest his assailant, and I had no need to ask who he was.

Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories

The mountaineer was a devil, the foreman said, and I had to club him with

a pistol-butt before he would give in. He said he would get even with me;

but they all say that, and I paid no attention to the threat. For a week he

was kept in the calaboose, and when I passed the shanty just after he was

sent to the county-seat for trial, I found it empty. The Malungian, too,

was gone. Within a fortnight the mountaineer was in the door of the

shanty again. Having no accuser, he had been discharged. He went

back to his work, and if he opened his lips I never knew. Every day I

saw him at work, and he never failed to give me a surly look. Every dusk

I saw him in his door-way, waiting, and I could guess for what. It was

easy to believe that the stern purpose in his face would make its way

through space and draw her to him again. And she did come back one

day. I had just limped down the mountain with a sprained ankle. A

crowd of women was gathered at the edge of the woods, looking with all

their eyes to the shanty on the river-bank. The girl stood in the door-way.

The mountaineer was coming back from work with his face down.

``He hain't seed her yit,'' said one. ``He's goin' to kill her shore. I

tol' her he would. She said she reckoned he would, but she didn't keer.''

For a moment I was paralyzed by the tragedy at hand. She was in the

door looking at him when he raised his head. For one moment he stood

still, staring, and then he started towards her with a quickened step. I

started too, then, every step a torture, and as I limped ahead she made a

gesture of terror and backed into the room before him. The door closed,

and I listened for a pistol-shot and a scream. It must have been done with

a knife, I thought, and quietly, for when I was within ten paces of the cabin

he opened the door again. His face was very white; he held one hand

behind him, and he was nervously fumbling at his chill with the other.

As he stepped towards me I caught the handle of a pistol in my side pocket

and waited. He looked at me sharply.

``Did you say the preacher lived up thar?'' he asked.

``Yes,'' I said, breathlessly.

In the door-way just then stood the girl with a bonnet in her hand, and

at a nod from him they started up the hill towards the cottage. They

came down again after a while, he stalking ahead, and she, after the

Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories

mountain fashion, behind. And after this fashion I saw them at sunset

next day pass over the bridge and into the mouth of the Gap whence they

came. Through this Gap come strange people and strange tales from the

Kentucky hills. Over it, sometimes, is the span of a rainbow.

Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories

A TRICK O' TRADE

Stranger, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's

business; but you ax me straight, an' I tell ye straight: You watch ole

Tom!

Now, I'll take ole Tom Perkins' word agin anybody's 'ceptin' when hit

comes to a hoss trade ur a piece o' land. Fer in the tricks o' sech, ole Tom

'lows-- well, hit's diff'ent; an' I reckon, stranger, as how hit sorter is. He

was a-stayin' at Tom's house, the furriner was, a-dickerin' fer a piece o'

lan'--the same piece, mebbe, that you're atter now-- an' Tom keeps him

thar fer a week to beat him out'n a dollar, an' then won't let him pay nary a

cent fer his boa'd. Now, stranger, that's Tom.

Well, Abe Shivers was a-workin' fer Tom--you've heerd tell o' Abe--an'

the furriner wasn't more'n half gone afore Tom seed that Abe was up to

some of his devilMINT. Abe kin hatch up more devilMINT in a minit

than Satan hisself kin in a week; so Tom jes got Abe out'n the stable under

a hoe-handle, an' tol' him to tell the whole thing straight ur he'd have to go

to glory right thar. An' Abe tol'!

'Pears like Abe had foun' a streak o' iron ore on the lan', an' had racked

his jinny right down to Hazlan an' tol' the furriner, who was thar a-buyin'

wild lands right an' left. Co'se, Abe was goin' to make the furriner whack

up fer gittin' the lan' so cheap. Well, brother, the furriner come up to

Tom's an' got Tom into one o' them new- fangled trades whut the furriners

calls a option--t'other feller kin git out'n hit, but you can't. The furriner

'lowed he'd send his podner up thar next day to put the thing in writin' an'

close up the trade. Hit looked like ole Tom was ketched fer shore, an' ef

Tom didn't ra'r, I'd tell a man. He jes let that hoe- handle drap on Abe fer

'bout haffen hour, jes to give him time to study, an' next day thar was ole

Tom a-settin' on his orchard fence a-lookin' mighty unknowin', when the

furriner's podner come a-prancin' up an' axed ef old Tom Perkins lived

thar.

Ole Tom jes whispers.

Now, I clean fergot to tell ye, stranger, that Abe Shivers nuver could

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HellFerSartain&OtherStories1HellFerSartain&OtherStoriesByJohnFox,Jr.HellFerSartain&OtherStories2ONHELL-FER-SARTAINCREEKTharwasadancin'-partyChristmasnighton``HellferSartain.''Jestu'nupthefustcrickbeyondthebendthar,an'climbontoastump,an'holleraboutONCE,an'you'llseehowthenamecome.Stranger,hit'sHELLfer...

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