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Title: The Marquise Of Queensberry
Author: John Fox [
More Titles by Fox]
I
Thus it had happened. Pleasant Trouble was drunk one day and a fly lit on his knee. He whipped his forty-four from its holster.
"I'll show ye who you air lightin' on!" he swore, and blazed away. Of course he killed the fly, but incidentally he shattered its lighting-place. Had he been in a trench anywhere in France, his leg would have been saved, but he was away out in the Kentucky hills. If he minded the loss of it, however, no one could see, for with chin up and steady, daredevil eyes he swung along about as well on his crutch as if it had been a good leg. Down the road, close to the river's brim, he was swinging now--his voice lifted in song. Ahead of him and just around the curve of the road, with the sun of Happy Valley raining its last gold on her golden bare head, walked the Marquise; but neither Pleasant nor she herself knew she was the Marquise. A few minutes later the girl heard the crunch of the crutch in the sandy road behind her, and she turned with a smile:
"How-dye, Pleaz!" The man caught the flapping brim of his slouch-hat and lifted it--an act of courtesy that he had learned only after Happy Valley was blessed by the advent of the Mission school: making it, he was always embarrassed no little.
"How-dye, Miss Mary!"
"Going down to the dance?"
"No'm," he said with vigorous severity, and then with unctuous virtue--"I hain't nuver run a set or played a play in my life."
The word "dance" is taboo among these Calvinists of the hills. They "run sets" and "play plays"--and these are against the sterner morals that prevail--but they do not dance. The Mission teacher smiled. This was a side-light on the complex character of Pleasant Trouble that she had not known before, and she knew it had nothing to do with his absent leg. A hundred yards ahead of them a boy and a girl emerged from a ravine--young King Camp and Polly Sizemore--and plainly they were quarrelling. The girl's head was high with indignation; the boy's was low with anger, and now and then he would viciously dig the toe of his boot in the sand as he strode along. Pleasant grinned.
"I won't holler to 'em," he said; "I reckon they'd ruther be alone."
"Pleasant," said Miss Mary, "you drink moonshine, don't you?"
"Yes'm."
"You sometimes make it, don't you?"
"I've been s'picioned."
"You were turned out of church once, weren't you, for shooting up a meeting?"
"Yes," was the indignant defense, "but I proved to 'em that I was drunk, an' they tuk me back." The girl had to laugh.
"And yet you think dancing wrong?"
"Yes'm."
The girl gave it up--so perfunctory and final was is reply. Indeed, he seemed to have lost interest. Twice he had looked back, and now he turned again. She saw the fulfilment of some prophecy in his face as he grunted and frowned.
"Thar comes Ham Cage," he said. Turning, the girl saw an awkward youth stepping into the road from the same ravine whence Polly and young King had come, but she did not, as did Pleasant, see Ham shifting a revolver from his hip to an inside pocket.
"Those two boys worry the life out of me," she said, and again Pleasant grunted. They were the two biggest boys in the school, and in running, jumping, lifting weights, shooting at marks, and even in working--in everything, indeed, except in books--they were tireless rivals. And now they were bitter contestants for the favor of Polly Sizemore--a fact that Pleasant knew better than the Mission girl.
Flirts are rare in the hills. "If two boys meets at the same house," Pleasant once had told her, "they jes makes the gal say which one she likes best, and t'other one gits!" But with the growth of the Mission school had come a certain tolerance which Polly had used to the limit. Indeed, St. Hilda had discovered a queer reason for a sudden quickening of interest on Polly's part in her studies. Polly had to have the letters she got read for her, and the letters she sent written for her, and thus St. Hilda found that at least three young men, who had gone into the army and had learned to write, thought--each of them--that he was first in her heart. Polly now wanted to learn to read and write so that she could keep such secrets to herself. She had been "settin' up" with Ham Cage for a long time, and now she was "talkin' to" young King Camp. King was taking her to the dance, and it was plain to Pleasant that trouble was near. He looked worried.
"Well," he said, "I reckon thar hain't so much harm the way you school folks run sets because you don't 'low drinkin' or totin' pistols, an' you make 'em go home early. I heerd Miss Hildy is away--do you think you can manage the bad uns?"
"I think so," smiled Miss Mary.
"Well, mebbe I will come around to-night."
"Come right along now," said the girl heartily, but Pleasant had left his own gun at home, so he shook his head and started up the mountain.
II
Happy Valley was darkening now. The evening star shone white in the last rosy western flush, and already lanterns glowed on the porch of the "big house" where the dancing was to be. From high in the shadows a voice came down to the girl:
"I hain't got a gun an' I hain't had a drink to-day. Hit's a shame when Miss Hildy's always a-tryin' to give us a good time she has to beg us to behave."
The young folks were gathering in. On the porch she saw Polly Sizemore in a chair and young King Camp slipping into the darkness on the other side of the house. A few minutes later Ham Cage strolled into sight, saw Polly, and sullenly dropped on the stone steps as far away from her as possible. The little teacher planned a course of action.
"Ham," she said, as she passed, "I want you to run the first set with me." Ham stared and she was rather startled by his flush.
"Yes'm," he stammered. A moment later young King reappeared at the other end of the porch.
"King," she said, "I want you to run the second set with me," and King too stared, flushed, and stammered assent, while Polly flashed indignation at the little teacher's back. It had been Miss Mary's plan to break up the hill custom of one boy and one girl dancing together all the time--and she had another idea as well.
Pleasant Trouble swung into the circle of light from the porch just as the first set started, and he sat down on the stone steps to look on. It was a jolly dance. Some elderly folks were there to look on, and a few married couples who, in spite of Miss Mary's persuasions, yet refused to take part. It was soon plain that Polly Sizemore and the little teacher were the belles of the ball, though of the two Polly alone seemed to realize it. Pleasant could hardly keep his eyes off the Mission girl. She was light as a feather, her eyes sparkled, her cheeks grew rosy, her laugh rang out, and the flaming spirit of her was kindling fires of which she never dreamed. Pleasant saw her dance first with Ham and then with King, and he grinned with swift recognition of her purpose. And he grinned the more when he saw that she was succeeding beyond her realization--saw it by the rage in Polly's black eyes, which burned now at Ham and now at King, for Miss Mary had no further need to ask either of them to dance--one or the other was always at her side. Indeed the Marquise, without knowing it, was making a pretty triangular mess of things, and Pleasant chuckled unholily--chuckled until he saw things were getting serious, and then his inner laughing ceased and his sharp eyes got wary and watchful. For first Ham and then King would disappear in the darkness, and each time they came back their faces were more flushed and their dancing was more furious.
Now, Polly was winging arrows of anger at the little teacher, and presently Pleasant rose lightly and with incredible swiftness swung across the floor just as the climax came. From the other side Polly too darted forward. Ham and King were glaring at each other over the teacher's pretty head--each claiming the next dance. Miss Mary was opening her mouth for a mild rebuke when the two boys sprang back, the right hand of each flashing to his hip. King drew first, and Pleasant's crutch swished down on his wrist, striking his pistol to the floor. Polly had caught Ham's hand with both her own, and Ham felt the muzzle of Pleasant's forty-four against his stomach.
"Stop it!" said Pleasant sternly. "Miss Mary don't like sech doin's."
So quickly was it on and over that the teacher hardly realized that it had come on and was over. Her bewildered face paled, but the color came back with a rush, and when her indignant eyes began their deadly work Pleasant knew there was no further need of him, and he stepped back as though to escape penalty even for playing peacemaker in a way so rude.
"You--you--you two!" breathed Miss Mary helplessly, but only for a moment.
"Give me that gun, Ham. Pick that one up, King." Both she handed to Pleasant, and then--no torrent came. She turned with a wave of her hand.
"You can all go home now." There had been a moment of deadly quiet, but in the mountains even boys and girls do not take such events very seriously; the hubbub and tittering that had started again ceased again, and all left quickly and quietly--all but the teacher, Pleasant, and the two boys, for Polly too was moving away. King turned to go after her.
"Wait a moment, King," said Miss Mary, and Polly cried fiercely: "He can stay till doomsday fer all o' me. I hain't goin' with ary one uv 'em." And she flirted away.
"I am not going to talk to you two boys until to-morrow," said Miss Mary firmly, "and then I'm going to put a stop to all this. I want both of you to be here when school closes. I want you too, Pleasant, and I want you to bring Lum Chapman."
Pleasant Trouble was as bewildered as the two shamefaced boys--did she mean to have him hold a gun on the two boys while Lum, the blacksmith, whaled them?
"Me?--Lum?--why, whut----"
"Never mind--wait till to-morrow. Will you all be here?"
"Yes'm," said all.
"Go with them up the river, Pleasant. Don't let them quarrel, and see that each one goes up his own creek."
The two boys moved away like yoked oxen. At the bottom step Pleasant turned to look back. Very rigid and straight the little teacher stood under the lantern, and the pallor and distress of her face had given way to a look of stern determination.
"Whew!" he breathed, and he turned a half-circle on his crutch into the dark.
III
Miss Mary Holden was a daughter of the Old Dominion, on the other side of the Cumberland Range, and she came, of course, from fighting stock. She had gone North to school and had come home horrified by--to put it mildly--the Southern tendency to an occasional homicide. There had been a great change, to be sure, within her young lifetime. Except under circumstances that were peculiarly aggravating, gentlemen no longer peppered each other on sight. The duel was quite gone. Indeed, the last one at the old university was in her father's time, and had been, he told her, a fake. A Texan had challenged another student, and the seconds had loaded the pistols with blank cartridges. After firing three times at his enemy the Texan threw his weapon down, swore that he could hit a quarter every time at that distance, pulled forth two guns of his own and demanded that they be used; and they had a terrible time appeasing the Westerner, who, failing in humor, challenged then and there every member of his enemy's fraternity and every member of his own. Thereafter it became the custom there and at other institutions of learning in the State to settle all disputes fist and skull; and of this Miss Holden, who was no pacifist, thoroughly approved. Now she was in a community where the tendency to kill seemed well-nigh universal. St. Hilda was a gentle soul, who would never even whip a pupil. She might not approve--but Miss Holden had the spirit of the pioneer and she must lead these people into the light. So she told her plan next day to Pleasant Trouble and Lum Chapman, who were first to come. Stolid Lum would have shown no surprise had she proposed that the two boys dive from a cliff, and if one survived he won; but the wonder and the succeeding joy in Pleasant's face disturbed Miss Holden. And when Pleasant swung his hat from his head and let out a fox-hunting yelp of pure ecstasy she rebuked him severely, whereat the man with the crutch lapsed into solemnity.
"Will they fight this way?" she asked.
"Them two boys will fight a bee-gum o' sucklin' wildcats--tooth and toe-nail."
"They aren't going to fight that way," protested Miss Holden. "They will fight by the Marquis of--er--Somebody's rules." She explained the best she could the intervals of action and of rest, and her hearers were vastly interested.
"They can't kick?" asked Pleasant.
"No."
"Ner bite?"
"No!"
"Ner gouge?"
"What do you mean by 'gouge'?" Pleasant pantomimed with a thumbnail crooked on the outer edge of each eye-socket.
"No!" was the horrified cry.
"Jest a square, stand-up and knock-down fight?"
"Yes," she said reluctantly but bravely.
"Lum will be timekeeper and referee to make them break away when they clinch." When she explained that Pleasant scratched his head.
"They can't even wrassle?" Miss Holden understood and did not correct.
"They can't even wrassle. And you and I will be the seconds."
"Seconds--whut do we do?"
"Oh, we--we fan them and--and wash off the blood," she shivered a little in spite of herself. Pleasant smiled broadly.
"Which one you goin' to wash off?"
"I--I don't know." Pleasant grinned.
"Well, we better toss up fer it an' atter they git hyeh." She did not understand his emphasis.
"Very well," she assented carelessly.
Up the road came Ham Cage now, and down the road came King Camp--both with a rapid stride. Though both had sworn to shoot on sight, they had kept away from each other as they had promised, and now without speaking they glowered unwinking into each other's eyes. Nor did either ask a question when the little teacher, with two towels over one arm, led the way down the road, up over a little ridge, and down to a grassy hollow by the side of a tinkling creek. It was hard for the girl to believe that these two boys meant to shoot each other as they had threatened, but Pleasant had told her they surely would, and that fact held her purpose firm. Without a word they listened while she explained, and without a word both nodded assent--nor did they show any surprise when the girl repeated what she had told Pleasant Trouble and Lum Chapman.
"Jes' a plain ole square, stand-up an' knock-down fight," murmured Pleasant consolingly, pulling forth a silver quarter, "Heads--you wipe Ham; tails--you wipe King." Miss Holden nodded, and for the first time the two lads turned their angry eyes from each other to the girl and yet neither asked a question. Tails it was, and the girl motioned King to a log on one side of the hollow, and Pleasant and Ham to another log on the other side. She handed Pleasant one of the towels, dropped her little watch into Lum's huge palm, and on second thought took it back again: it might get broken, and Lum might be too busy to keep time. Only Pleasant saw the gritting of Ham's teeth when she took her stand by King's side.
"Take off your coats!" she said sharply. The two obeyed swiftly.
"Time!" she called, and the two leaped for each other.
"Stop!" she cried, and they halted. "I forgot--shake hands!"
Both shook their heads instead, like maddened bulls, and even Lum looked amazed; he even spoke:
"Whut's the use o' fightin', if they shakes hands?"
Miss Holden had no argument ready, and etiquette was waived. "Time!" she repeated, and then the two battering-rams, revolving their fists country-fashion, engaged. Half-forgotten Homeric phrases began to flit from a faraway schoolroom back into the little teacher's mind and she began to be consoled for the absence of gloves--those tough old ancients had used gauges of iron and steel. The two boys were evenly matched. After a few thundering body blows they grew wary, and when the round closed their faces were unmarked, they had done each other no damage, and Miss Holden was thrilled--it wasn't so bad after all. Each boy grabbed his own towel and wiped the sweat off his own face.
"Git at it, Ham--git at it!" encouraged Pleasant, and Ham got at it. He gave King a wallop on the jaw; King came back with a jolt on the chin, and the two embraced untenderly.
"Break away!" cried the girl. "Lum, make them break!" Lum thrust one mighty arm between them and, as they flailed unavailingly over it, threw them both back with a right-and-left sweep. Both were panting when the girl called time, and the first blood showed streaming from King's nose. Miss Holden looked a little pale, but gallantly she dipped the towel in the brook and went about her work. Again Pleasant saw his principal's jaw work in a gritting movement, and he chuckled encouragement so loudly that the girl heard him and looked around indignantly. It was inevitable that the seconds, even unconsciously, should take sides, and that point was coming fast. The girl did not hear herself say:
"Shift your head and come back from underneath!" And that was what King proceeded to do, and Ham got an upper-cut on the chin that snapped his head up and sprinkled the blue sky with stars for him just as the bell of the girl's voice sounded time. Meanwhile, up the road below them came a khaki-clad youth and a girl--Polly Sizemore and one of her soldier lovers who was just home on a furlough. Polly heard the noises in the hollow, cocked an ear, put her finger on her lips, and led him to the top of the little ridge whence she could peak over. Her amazed eyes grew hot seeing the Mission girl, and she turned and whispered:
"That fotched-on woman's got 'em fightin'."
The soldier's face radiated joy indeed, and as unseen spectators the two noiselessly settled down.
"Whur'd they learn to fight this way?" whispered the soldier--the army had taught him. Polly whispered back:
"She's a-larnin' 'em." The khaki boy gurgled his joy and craned his neck.
"Whut they fightin' about?" Polly flushed and turned her face.
"I--er--I don't know." The soldier observed neither her flush nor her hesitation, for King and Ham were springing forward for another round; he only muttered his disgust at their awkwardness and their ignorance of the ring in terms that were strange to the girl by his side.
"The mutts, the cheeses, the pore dawgs--they don't know how to guard an' they ain't got no lefts."
Pleasant was advising and encouraging his principal now openly and in a loud voice, and Ham's face began to twist with fury when he heard the Mission girl begin to spur on King. With bared teeth he rushed forward and through the wild blows aimed at him, got both underholds, and King gave a gasping grunt as the breath was squeezed quite out of him.
"Break!" cried the girl. Lum tugged at the locked hand and wrist behind King's back and King's hands flew to Ham's throat. "Break! Break!" And Lum had literally to tear them apart.
"Time!" gasped the girl. She was on the point of tears now, but she held them back and her mouth tightened--she would give them one more round anyhow. When the battling pair rose Pleasant lost his head. He let loose a fox-hunting yell. He forgot his duty and the rules; he forgot the girl--he forgot all but the fight.
"Let 'em loose!" he yelled. "Git at it boys! Go fer him, Ham--whoop--ee--ee!" The girl was electrified. Lum began cracking the knuckles of his huge fingers. Polly and the soldier rose to their feet. That little dell turned eons back. The people there wore skins and two cavemen who had left their clubs at home fought with all the other weapons they had. The Mission girl could never afterward piece out the psychology of that moment of world darkness, but when she saw Ham's crooked thumbs close to King's eyes a weird and thrilling something swept her out of herself. Her watch dropped to the ground. She rushed forward, seized two handfuls of Ham's red hair, and felt Polly's two sinewy hands seizing hers. Like a tigress she flashed about; just in time then came the call of civilization, and she answered it with a joyous cry. Bounding across the creek below came a tall young man, who stopped suddenly in sheer amaze at the scene and as suddenly dashed on. With hair and eyes streaming, the girl went to meet him and rushed into his arms. From that haven she turned.
"It's a draw!" she said faintly. "Shake--" She did not finish the sentence. Ham and King had risen and were staring at her and the stranger. They looked at each other, and then saw Polly sidling back to the soldier. Again they looked at each other, grinned at each other, and, as each turned for his coat--clasped hands.
"Oh!" cried the girl, "I'm so glad."
"This is not my brother," she said, leading the stranger forward. If she expected to surprise them, she didn't, for in the hills brothers and sisters do not rush into each other's arms. "It's my sweetheart, and he's come to take me home. And you won't shoot each other--you won't fight any more?" And Ham said:
"Not jes' at present"; and King laughed.
"I'm so glad."
Pleasant swung back to the Mission House with the two foreigners, and on the way Miss Holden explained. The stranger was a merry person, and that part of Happy Valley rang with his laughter.
"My! I wish I had got there earlier--what were they fighting about?"
"Why, Polly Sizemore, that pretty girl with black hair who lost her head when--when--I caught hold of Ham." The shoulder of Pleasant Trouble that was not working up and down over his crutch began to work up and down over something else.
"What's the matter, Pleasant?" asked the girl.
"Nothin'." But he was grinning when they reached the steps of the Mission, and he turned on Miss Holden a dancing eye.
"Polly nothin'--them two boys was a-fightin' about you!" And he left her aghast and wheeled chuckling away.
Next afternoon the Marquise bade her little brood a tearful good-by and rode with her lover up Happy Valley to go over the mountain, on to the railroad, and back into the world. At the mouth of Wolf Run Pleasant Trouble was waiting to shake hands.
"Tell Polly good-by for me, Pleasant," said Miss Holden. "She wasn't there."
"Polly and the soldier boy rid up to the Leetle Jedge o' Happy Valley last night to git married."
"Oh," said Miss Holden, and she flushed a little. "And Ham and King weren't there--where do you suppose they are?" Pleasant pointed to a green little hollow high up a ravine.
"They're up thar."
"Alone?" Pleasant nodded and Miss Holden looked anxious.
"They aren't fighting again?"
"Oh, no!"
"Do you suppose they are really friends now?"
"Ham an' King air as lovin' as a pair o' twins," said Pleasant decidedly and Miss Holden looked much pleased.
"What on earth are they doing up there?"
"Well," drawled Pleasant, "when they ain't huggin' an' shakin' hands they're wrasslin' with a jug o' moonshine."
The Mission girl looked disturbed, and the merry stranger let loose his ringing laugh.
"Oh, dear! Now, where do you suppose they got moonshine?"
"I tol' you," repeated Pleasant, "that I didn't know nobody who couldn't git moonshine." Miss Holden sighed, her lover laughed again, and they rode away, Pleasant watching them till they were out of sight.
"Whut I aimed to say was," corrected Pleasant mentally, "I didn't know nobody who knowed me that couldn't git it." And he jingled the coins in his pockets that at daybreak that morning had been in the pockets of Ham and King.
[The end]
John Fox's short story: Marquise Of Queensberry
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