The Crossing [34]
through to git here, I wonder that I come back at all. The folks shut up at Harrod's said it was sure death ter cross the mountains now. I've walked two hundred miles, and fed seven times, and my sculp's as near hangin' on a Red Stick's belt as I ever want it to be.''
``Tom McChesney,'' said Polly Ann, with her hands on her hips and her sunbonnet tilted, ``that's the longest speech you ever made in your life.''
I declare I lost my temper with Polly Ann then, nor did I blame Tom McChesney for turning on his heel and walking away. But he had gone no distance at all before Polly Ann, with three springs, was at his shoulder.
``Tom!'' she said very gently.
He hesitated, stopped, thumped the stock of his gun on the ground, and wheeled. He looked at her doubtingly, and her eyes fell to the ground.
``Tom McChesney,'' said she, ``you're a born fool with wimmen.
``Thank God for that,'' said he, his eyes devouring her.
``Ay,'' said she. And then, ``You want me to go to Kaintuckee with you?''
``That's what I come for,'' he stammered, his assurance all run away again.
``I'll go,'' she answered, so gently that her words were all but blown away by the summer wind. He laid his rifle against a stump at the edge of the corn-field, but she bounded clear of him. Then she stood, panting, her eyes sparkling.
``I'll go,'' she said, raising her finger, ``I'll go for one thing.''
``What's that?'' he demanded.
``That you'll take Davy along with us.''
This time Tom had her, struggling like a wild thing in his arms, and kissing her black hair madly. As for me, I might have been in the next settlement for all they cared. And then Polly Ann, as red as a holly berry, broke away from him and ran to me, caught me up, and hid her face in my shoulder. Tom McChesney stood looking at us, grinning, and that day I ceased to hate him.
``There's no devil ef I don't take him, Polly Ann,'' said he. ``Why, he was a-goin' to Kaintuckee ter find me for you.''
``What?'' said she, raising her head.
``That's what he told me afore he knew who I was. He wanted to know ef I'd fetch him thar.''
``Little Davy!'' cried Polly Ann.
The last I saw of them that day they were going off up the trace towards his mother's, Polly Ann keeping ahead of him and just out of his reach. And I was very, very happy. For Tom McChesney had come back at last, and Polly Ann was herself once more.
As long as I live I shall never forget Polly Ann's wedding.
She was all for delay, and such a bunch of coquetry as I have never seen. She raised one objection after another; but Tom was a firm man, and his late experiences in the wilderness had made him impatient of trifling. He had promised the Kentucky settlers, fighting for their lives in their blockhouses, that he would come back again. And a resolute man who was a good shot was sorely missed in the country in those days.
It was not the thousand dangers and hardships of the journey across the Wilderness Trail that frightened Polly Ann. Not she. Nor would she listen to Tom when he implored her to let him return alone, to come back for her when the redskins had got over the first furies of their hatred. As for me, the thought of going with them into that promised land was like wine. Wondering what the place was like, I could not sleep of nights.
``Ain't you afeerd to go, Davy?'' said Tom to me.
``You promised Polly Ann to take me,'' said I, indignantly.
``Davy,'' said he, ``you ain't over handsome. 'Twouldn't improve yere looks to be bald. They hev a way of takin' yere ha'r. Better stay behind with Gran'pa Ripley till I kin fetch ye both.''
``Tom,'' said Polly Ann, ``you kin just go back alone if you don't take Davy.''
So one of the Winn boys agreed to come over to stay with old Mr. Ripley until quieter times.
The preparations for the wedding went on apace that week. I had not thought that the Grape Vine settlement held so many people. And they came from other settlements, too, for news spread quickly in that country, despite the distances. Tom
``Tom McChesney,'' said Polly Ann, with her hands on her hips and her sunbonnet tilted, ``that's the longest speech you ever made in your life.''
I declare I lost my temper with Polly Ann then, nor did I blame Tom McChesney for turning on his heel and walking away. But he had gone no distance at all before Polly Ann, with three springs, was at his shoulder.
``Tom!'' she said very gently.
He hesitated, stopped, thumped the stock of his gun on the ground, and wheeled. He looked at her doubtingly, and her eyes fell to the ground.
``Tom McChesney,'' said she, ``you're a born fool with wimmen.
``Thank God for that,'' said he, his eyes devouring her.
``Ay,'' said she. And then, ``You want me to go to Kaintuckee with you?''
``That's what I come for,'' he stammered, his assurance all run away again.
``I'll go,'' she answered, so gently that her words were all but blown away by the summer wind. He laid his rifle against a stump at the edge of the corn-field, but she bounded clear of him. Then she stood, panting, her eyes sparkling.
``I'll go,'' she said, raising her finger, ``I'll go for one thing.''
``What's that?'' he demanded.
``That you'll take Davy along with us.''
This time Tom had her, struggling like a wild thing in his arms, and kissing her black hair madly. As for me, I might have been in the next settlement for all they cared. And then Polly Ann, as red as a holly berry, broke away from him and ran to me, caught me up, and hid her face in my shoulder. Tom McChesney stood looking at us, grinning, and that day I ceased to hate him.
``There's no devil ef I don't take him, Polly Ann,'' said he. ``Why, he was a-goin' to Kaintuckee ter find me for you.''
``What?'' said she, raising her head.
``That's what he told me afore he knew who I was. He wanted to know ef I'd fetch him thar.''
``Little Davy!'' cried Polly Ann.
The last I saw of them that day they were going off up the trace towards his mother's, Polly Ann keeping ahead of him and just out of his reach. And I was very, very happy. For Tom McChesney had come back at last, and Polly Ann was herself once more.
As long as I live I shall never forget Polly Ann's wedding.
She was all for delay, and such a bunch of coquetry as I have never seen. She raised one objection after another; but Tom was a firm man, and his late experiences in the wilderness had made him impatient of trifling. He had promised the Kentucky settlers, fighting for their lives in their blockhouses, that he would come back again. And a resolute man who was a good shot was sorely missed in the country in those days.
It was not the thousand dangers and hardships of the journey across the Wilderness Trail that frightened Polly Ann. Not she. Nor would she listen to Tom when he implored her to let him return alone, to come back for her when the redskins had got over the first furies of their hatred. As for me, the thought of going with them into that promised land was like wine. Wondering what the place was like, I could not sleep of nights.
``Ain't you afeerd to go, Davy?'' said Tom to me.
``You promised Polly Ann to take me,'' said I, indignantly.
``Davy,'' said he, ``you ain't over handsome. 'Twouldn't improve yere looks to be bald. They hev a way of takin' yere ha'r. Better stay behind with Gran'pa Ripley till I kin fetch ye both.''
``Tom,'' said Polly Ann, ``you kin just go back alone if you don't take Davy.''
So one of the Winn boys agreed to come over to stay with old Mr. Ripley until quieter times.
The preparations for the wedding went on apace that week. I had not thought that the Grape Vine settlement held so many people. And they came from other settlements, too, for news spread quickly in that country, despite the distances. Tom