The Crossing [130]
no squatter have the better of me. I did not serve Virginia for gold or land, but I lost my fortune in that service, and before I know it these backwoodsmen will have every acre of my grant. It's an old story,'' said Mr. Colfax, hotly, ``and why the devil did we fight England if it wasn't that every man should have his rights? By God, I'll not be frightened or wheedled out of mine. I sent an agent to Kentucky to deal politely and reasonably with these gentry. What did they do to him? Some of them threw him out neck and crop. And if I am not mistaken,'' said Major Colfax, fixing a piercing eye upon Tom, ``if I am not mistaken, it was this worthy sergeant of yours who came near to hanging him, and made the poor devil flee Kentucky for his life.''
This remark brought me near to an untimely laugh at the remembrance of Mr. Potts, and this though I was far too sober over the outcome of the conference. Colonel Clark seized hold of a chair and pushed it under Major Colfax.
``Sit down, gentlemen, we are not so far apart,'' said the Colonel, coolly. The slovenly negro lad passing at that time, he caught him by the sleeve. ``Here, boy, a bowl of toddy, quick. And mind you brew it strong. Now, Tom,'' said he, ``what is this fine tale about a hanging?''
`` 'Twan't nothin','' said Tom.
``You tell me you didn't try to hang Mr. Potts!'' cried Major Colfax.
``I tell you nothin','' said Tom, and his jaw was set more stubbornly than ever.
Major Colfax glanced at Colonel Clark.
``You see!'' he said a little triumphantly.
I could hold my tongue no longer.
``Major Colfax is unjust, sir,'' I cried. `` 'Twas Tom saved the man from hanging.''
``Eh?'' says Colonel Clark, turning to me sharply. ``So you had a hand in this, Davy. I might have guessed as much.''
``Who the devil is this?'' says Mr. Colfax.
``A sort of ward of mine,'' answers the Colonel. ``Drummer boy, financier, strategist, in my Illinois campaign. Allow me to present to you, Major, Mr. David Ritchie. When my men objected to marching through ice-skimmed water up to their necks, Mr. Ritchie showed them how.''
``God bless my soul!'' exclaimed the Major, staring at me from under his black eyebrows, ``he was but a child.''
``With an old head on his shoulders,'' said the Colonel, and his banter made me flush.
The negro boy arriving with the toddy, Colonel Clark served out three generous gourdfuls, a smaller one for me. ``Your health, my friends, and I drink to a peaceful settlement.''
``You may drink to the devil if you like,'' says Major Colfax, glaring at Tom.
``Come, Davy,'' said Colonel Clark, when he had taken half the gourd, ``let's have the tale. I'll warrant you're behind this.''
I flushed again, and began by stammering. For I had a great fear that Major Colfax's temper would fly into bits when he heard it.
``Well, sir,'' said I, ``I was grinding corn at the mill when the man came. I thought him a smooth-mannered person, and he did not give his business. He was just for wheedling me. `And was this McChesney's mill?' said he. `Ay,' said I. `Thomas McChesney?' `Ay,' said I. Then he was all for praise of Thomas McChesney. `Where is he?' said he. `He is at the far pasture,' said I,' and may be looked for any moment.' Whereupon he sits down and tries to worm out of me the business of the mill, the yield of the land. After that he begins to talk about the great people he knows, Sevier and Shelby and Robertson and Boone and the like. Ay, and his intimates, the Randolphs and the Popes and the Colfaxes in Virginia. 'Twas then I asked him if he knew Colonel Campbell of Abingdon.''
``And what deviltry was that?'' demanded the Colonel, as he dipped himself more of the toddy.
``I'll come to it, sir. Yes, Colonel Campbell was his intimate, and ranted if he did not tarry a week with him at Abingdon on his journeys. After that he follows me to the cabin, and sees Polly Ann and Tom and the children on the floor poking a 'possum. `Ah,' says he, in his softest voice, `a pleasant family scene. And this
This remark brought me near to an untimely laugh at the remembrance of Mr. Potts, and this though I was far too sober over the outcome of the conference. Colonel Clark seized hold of a chair and pushed it under Major Colfax.
``Sit down, gentlemen, we are not so far apart,'' said the Colonel, coolly. The slovenly negro lad passing at that time, he caught him by the sleeve. ``Here, boy, a bowl of toddy, quick. And mind you brew it strong. Now, Tom,'' said he, ``what is this fine tale about a hanging?''
`` 'Twan't nothin','' said Tom.
``You tell me you didn't try to hang Mr. Potts!'' cried Major Colfax.
``I tell you nothin','' said Tom, and his jaw was set more stubbornly than ever.
Major Colfax glanced at Colonel Clark.
``You see!'' he said a little triumphantly.
I could hold my tongue no longer.
``Major Colfax is unjust, sir,'' I cried. `` 'Twas Tom saved the man from hanging.''
``Eh?'' says Colonel Clark, turning to me sharply. ``So you had a hand in this, Davy. I might have guessed as much.''
``Who the devil is this?'' says Mr. Colfax.
``A sort of ward of mine,'' answers the Colonel. ``Drummer boy, financier, strategist, in my Illinois campaign. Allow me to present to you, Major, Mr. David Ritchie. When my men objected to marching through ice-skimmed water up to their necks, Mr. Ritchie showed them how.''
``God bless my soul!'' exclaimed the Major, staring at me from under his black eyebrows, ``he was but a child.''
``With an old head on his shoulders,'' said the Colonel, and his banter made me flush.
The negro boy arriving with the toddy, Colonel Clark served out three generous gourdfuls, a smaller one for me. ``Your health, my friends, and I drink to a peaceful settlement.''
``You may drink to the devil if you like,'' says Major Colfax, glaring at Tom.
``Come, Davy,'' said Colonel Clark, when he had taken half the gourd, ``let's have the tale. I'll warrant you're behind this.''
I flushed again, and began by stammering. For I had a great fear that Major Colfax's temper would fly into bits when he heard it.
``Well, sir,'' said I, ``I was grinding corn at the mill when the man came. I thought him a smooth-mannered person, and he did not give his business. He was just for wheedling me. `And was this McChesney's mill?' said he. `Ay,' said I. `Thomas McChesney?' `Ay,' said I. Then he was all for praise of Thomas McChesney. `Where is he?' said he. `He is at the far pasture,' said I,' and may be looked for any moment.' Whereupon he sits down and tries to worm out of me the business of the mill, the yield of the land. After that he begins to talk about the great people he knows, Sevier and Shelby and Robertson and Boone and the like. Ay, and his intimates, the Randolphs and the Popes and the Colfaxes in Virginia. 'Twas then I asked him if he knew Colonel Campbell of Abingdon.''
``And what deviltry was that?'' demanded the Colonel, as he dipped himself more of the toddy.
``I'll come to it, sir. Yes, Colonel Campbell was his intimate, and ranted if he did not tarry a week with him at Abingdon on his journeys. After that he follows me to the cabin, and sees Polly Ann and Tom and the children on the floor poking a 'possum. `Ah,' says he, in his softest voice, `a pleasant family scene. And this