Rancho Del Muerto and Other Stories of Adventure from «Outing» by Various Authors. Various
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pap has certainly got some o’ the best corn licker in this county, Melissa; it liter’ly sets a feller on fire.”
“Be ashamed, Dick Martin!” she answered, with a cautious glance around her as if she feared that someone would observe the flush that had risen into her pretty face as he approached. “Be ashamed o’ yorese’f fur techin’ licker; last log-rollin’ you ‘lowed you’d tuk yore last dram. Paw ort to be churched fur settin’ temptation ‘fore so many young men. Ef I had my way the’ wouldn’t be a still, wild cat nur licensed, in the Co-hutta Mountains nowhar.”
“Shucks, Melissa!” exclaimed Dick. “Don’t git yore dander up ‘bout nothin’. I’m that anxious to git yore pap on my side I’d drink slop, mighty high, ef he ‘uz to ax me. He don’t like me, an’ blame me ef I know why, nuther. I ain’t been here in the last three Sunday nights ‘thout him a-callin’ you to bed most ‘fore dark. He didn’t raise no objections to Bill Miller a-stayin’ tell ‘leven o’clock last Tuesday night. Oh, I ain’t blind to hurt! Bill owns his own land and I havn’t a shovelful; thar’s the difference. He’s a-comin’ now, but mind you I’m agwine to set by you at shuckin’.”
The bright flush which had added such beauty to the girl’s face vanished as Bill Miller swaggered up and said with a loud voice, as he roughly shook her hand:
“Meliss’, kin I wait on you at shuckin’?”
“Dick’s jest this minute axed me,” she stammered, beginning to blush anew.
“Well, he ain’t axed to set on both sides uv you, I reckon. You’d be a uncommon quar pusson ef the’ wuz jest one side to you. What’s to keep me frum settin’ on tother side frum Dick?”
To this the farmer’s daughter made no reply, and as the guests were now starting to the barnyard she was escorted between the two rivals to the great coneshaped heap of unhusked corn gleaming in the pale moonlight.
“All keep yore feet an’ form a ring round the pile!” called out Bagley, so as to be overheard above the sound of their voices. “The’ ain’t no r’al fun ‘thout everything is conducted fa’r and squar’. Now” (as all the merrymakers stood hand in hand round the corn heap, Dick with one of Melissa’s hands in his tight clasp and his rival with the other) – “now, all march round an’ somebody start ‘King William Wuz King James’ Son,’ an’ when I tell you to halt set down right whar’ you are. I’m a-doin’ this ‘kase at Wade’s last week some fellers hid red yeers o’ corn nigh the’r places an’ wuz etarnally a-kissin’ o’ the gals, which ain’t fa’r nur decent. The rule on this occasion shall be as common, in regard to the fust feller that finds a red yeer o’corn bein’ ‘lowed to kiss any gal he likes, but atter that one time – understand everybody – atter that no bussin’ kin take place, red yeer ur no red yeer. I advocate moderation in all things, especially whar’ a man an’ woman’s mouth is con-sarned.”
While the musical tones of the familiar song were rising, and the straw beneath the feet of the human chain was rustling, Bagley called aloud the word: “Halt!” and all sat down immediately and went to work with a will. Song after song was sung. The hard, pearly silk-tipped ears of corn flew through the air and rained into the crib near at hand, and billows of husks rolled up behind the eager workers and were raked away by negroes who were not permitted to take part in the sport.
“Here’s a red un, by hunky!” yelled out a sunburnt, downy-faced youth, standing up and holding aloft a small ear of blood-red corn.
“Hold on thar!” shouted Bagley in commanding tones. “The rules must be enforced to the letter. Jim Lash, ef yore yeer measures full six inches ye’re the lucky man, but ef it falls short o’ that size its a nubbin an’ don’t count.”
An eager group encircled the young man, but soon a loud laugh rose and they all fell back into their places, for the ear had proved to be only five inches in length.
“Not yit, Jimmy Lash; not yit,” grunted Dick Martin, as he raked an armful of unhusked corn into his and Melissa’s laps. Then to Melissa in an undertone: “Ef wishin’ ‘u’d do any good, I’d be the fust to run acrost one, fur, by jingo! the’ ain’t a livin’ man, Melissa, that could want it as bad as I do with you a-settin’ so handy. By glory! [aloud] here she is, as red as sumac an’ as long as a rollin’ pin. The Lord be praised!” He had risen to his feet and stood holding up the trophy for Bagley’s inspection, fairly aglow with triumph and exercise.
The rustling in the corn husks ceased. All eyes were directed upon the erect forms of Dick Martin and Farmer Bagley. The clear moonlight revealed an unpleasant expression on the older man’s face in vivid contrast to the cast of the younger’s. Bagley seemed rather slow to form a decision; all present suspected the cause of his hesitation.
“Fair’s fair, Bagley!” called out an old farmer outside of the circle. “Don’t belittle yorese’f by ‘lowin’ anything o’ a personal natur’ to come in an’ influence you ag’in right. Dick Martin’s the fust an’ is entitled to the prize.”
“Yore right, Wilson,” admitted Bagley, with his eyes downcast. “Dick Martin is the winner an’ kin proceed; howsomever, thar’s some things that – ”
Salute yore bride an’ kiss her sweet,
Now you may rise upon yore feet!
sang the leader of the singers, completely drowning the remainder of Bagley’s sentence. As quick as a flash of lightning Dick had thrown his arm round struggling Melissa and imprinted a warm kiss on her lips. Then the workers applauded vociferously, and Melissa sat, suffused with crimson, between sullen Bill Miller and beaming Dick Martin. Bagley showed plainly that Dick’s action and the applause of all had roused his dislike for Dick even deeper than ever.
“I’m knowed to be a man o’ my word,” he fumed, white in the face and glancing round the ring of upturned faces. “I’m firm as firm kin be, I mought say as the rock o’ Bralty, when I take a notion. I’ve heerd a leetle o’ the talk in this settlement ‘mongst some o’ the meddlin’ sort, an’ fur fear this leetle accident mought add to the’r tattle I’d jest like to remark that ef thar’s a man on the top side o’ the earth that knows what’s to be done with his own flesh an’ blood it ort to be me. What’s been the talk ain’t so, not a speck of it. I’ve got somethin’ to say to – ”
“Paw!” expostulated Melissa, almost crying.
“Mr. Bagley – I say, Abrum Bagley, don’t make a born fool o’ yorese’f,” broke in Mrs. Bagley, as she waddled into the circle and laid her hand heavily upon her husband’s arm. “Now, folks, it’s about time you wuz gittin’ somethin’ warm into you. You kin finish the pile atter you’ve eat. Come on, all hands, to the house!”
A shadow of mortification fell athwart Dick’s honest face as soon as Bagley had spoken. His sensitive being was wounded to the core. As he and Melissa walked back to the farm house together, Bill Miller having dropped behind to gossip with someone over Bagley’s remarks, he was silent, and timid Melissa was too shy to break the silence, although it was very painful to her.
Reaching the entrance to the farm house, Dick held back and refused to enter with the others.
“Ain’t you gwine to come in an’ have some supper?” Melissa asked, pleadingly.
“I ain’t a-goin’ narry nuther step. Anything cooked in this house would stick in my throat atter what’s been said. He struck me a underhanded lick. I won’t force myse’f on ‘im nur to his table.”
“I think you mought, bein’ as I axed you,” said she tremblingly, as she shrank into the honeysuckle vines that clung to the latticework of the entry.
“No, blame me ef I do!” he answered firmly. “I’m of as good stock as anybody in this county; nobody cayn’t run no bull yearlin’ dry shod over me.”
All Melissa could do could not induce him to join the others in the dining room, and when he walked angrily away she ran into her own room, and sitting down in the darkness alone she