"An' who is Colonel William Greene Sterett, you asks?" repeated the Old Cattleman, with some indignant elevation of voice. "He's the founder of the Coyote, Wolfville's first newspaper; is as cultivated a gent that a-way as acquires his nose-paint at the Red Light's bar; an' comes of as good a Kaintucky fam'ly as ever distils its own whiskey or loses its money on a hoss. Son, I tells you this prior."

This last reproachfully.

"No, Colonel Sterett ain't old none--not what you-all would call aged. When he comes weavin' into Wolfville that time, I reckons now Colonel Sterett is mighty likely about twenty-odd years younger than me, an' at that time I shows about fifty rings on my horns. As for eddication, he's sh.o.r.e a even break with Doc Peets, an' as I remarks frequent, I never calls the hand of that gent in Arizona who for a lib'ral enlightenment is bullsnakes to rattlesnakes with Peets.

"Speakin' about who Colonel Sterett is, he onfolds his pedigree in full one evenin' when we're all sort o' self-herded in the New York Store. Which his story is a proud one, an' I'm a jedge because comin as I do from Tennessee myse'f, nacherally I saveys all about Kaintucky. Thar's three grades of folks in Kaintucky, the same bein'

contingent entire on whereabouts them folks is camped. Thar's the Bloo Gra.s.s deestrict, the Pennyr'yal deestrict, an' the Purchase.

The Bloo Gra.s.s folks is the 'ristocrats, while them low-flung trash from the Purchase is a heap plebeian. The Pennyr'yal outfit is kind o' hesitatin' 'round between a balk an' a break-down in between the other two, an' is part 'ristocratic that a-way an' part mud. As for Colonel Sterett, he's pure strain Bloo Gra.s.s, an' he shows it. I'll say this for the Colonel, an' it sh.o.r.ely knits me to him from the first, he could take a bigger drink of whiskey without sugar or water than ever I sees a gent take in my life.

"That time I alloods to, when Colonel Sterett vouchsafes them recollections, we-all is in the r'ar wareroom of the New York Store where the whiskey bar'ls be, samplin' some Valley Tan that's jest been freighted in. As she's new goods, that Valley Tan, an' as our troo views touchin' its merits is important to the camp, we're testin' the beverage plenty free an' copious. No expert gent can give opinions worth a white chip concernin' nosepaint short o' six drinks, an' we wasn't out to make no errors in our findin's about that Valley Tan. So, as I relates, we're all mebby some five drinks to the good, an' at last the talk, which has strayed over into the high gra.s.s an' is gettin' a whole lot too learned an' profound for most of the herd to cut in on, settles down between Doc Peets an Colonel Sterett as bein' the only two sports able to protect their play tharin.

"An' you can go as far as you like on it,' says the Colonel to Peets, 'I'm plumb wise an' full concernin' the transmigration of souls. I gives it my hearty beliefs. I can count a gent up the moment I looks at him; also I knows exactly what he is before he's a hooman bein'.'

"'That "transmigration" that a-way,' whispers Dan Boggs to Cherokee Hall, 'ain't no fool of a word. I'll prance over an' pull it on Red Dog to-morry. Which it's sh.o.r.e doo to strike'em dumb.'

"'Now yere's Hoppin' Harry,' goes on the Colonel p'intin' to a thin, black little felon with long ha'r like a pony, who's strayed over from Tucson; 'I gives it out cold, meanin' tharby no offence to our Tucson friend--I gives it out cold that Hoppin' Harry used to be a t'rant'ler. First,' continyoos the Colonel, stackin' Harry up mighty scientific with his optic jest showin' over his gla.s.s, 'first I allows he's a toad. Not a horned toad, which is a valyooed beast an'

has a mission; but one of these yere ornery forms of toads which infests the East. This last reptile is vulgar-sluggish, a anamile of few if any virchoos; while the horned toad, so called, come right down to cases, ain't no toad nohow. It's a false brand, an' he don't belong with the toad herd at all. The horned toad is a lizard--a broad kind o' lizard; an' as for bein' sluggish, you let him have something on his mind speshul, an' he'll sh.o.r.e go careerin' about plumb swift. Moreover, he don't hop, your horned toad don't, like them Eastern toads; he stands up on his toes an' paces--he's what we-all calls on the Ohio River back in my childhood's sunny hours, "a side-wheeler." Also, he's got a tail. An' as for sperit, let me tell you this:--I has a horned toad where I'm camped over by the Tres Hermanas, where I'm deer-huntin'. I wins that toad's love from the jump with hunks of bread an' salt hoss an' kindred del'cacies.

He dotes on me. When time hangs heavy, I entertains myse'f with a dooel between Augustus--Augustus bein' the horned toad's name--, an'

a empty sardine box for which he entertains resentments.

"'"Lay for him, Augustus!" I'd say, at the same instant battin' him in the nose with the box.

"'Of course, Augustus ain't got savey enough to realize I does it.

He allows it's the box that a-way makin' malev'lent bluffs at him.

An' say, pards, it would have made you proud of your country an' its starry flag to see Augustus arch himse'f for war on them o'casions.

"'Not that Augustus is malignant or evil disposed, nacheral. No, sir; I've yet to meet up with the toad who has his simple, even, gen'rous temper or lovin' heart; as trustful too, Augustus is, as the babe jest born. But like all n.o.ble nachers, Augustus is sensitive, an' he regyards them bats in the nose as insults. As I says, you-all should have seen him! He'd poise himse'f on his toes, erect the horn on his nose, same as one of these yere rhinoceroses of holy writ, an' then the way Augustus hooks an' hara.s.ses that offensive sardine box about the camp is a lesson to folks.'

"'Where's this yere Augustus now?' asks Dan Boggs, who's got all wropped up in the Colonel's narratifs.

"'Petered,' says the Colonel, an' thar's feelin's in his tones; 'pore Augustus cashes in. He's followin' me about one mornin'

watchin' me hook up--we was gettin' ready to move camp--an' all inadvertent I backs the wagon onto Augustus. The hind wheel goes squar' over him an' flattens Augustus out complete. He dies with his eyes fixed on me, an' his looks says as plain as language, "Cheer up, Colonel! This yere contreetemps don't change my affections, for I knows it's a misdeal." You-all can gamble I don't do nothin' more that day but mourn.'

"'Which I should sh.o.r.ely say so!' says Dan Boggs, an' his voice is shakin'; 'a-losin' of a gifted horned toad like Augustus! I'd a- howled like a wolf.'

"'But as I'm sayin',' resoomes the Colonel, after comfortin' himse'f with about four fingers; 'speakin' of the transmigration of souls, I goes off wrong about Hoppin' Harry that time. I takes it, he used to be one of these yere Eastern toads on account of his gait. But I'm erroneous. Harry, who is little an' spry an' full of p'isen that a- way, used to be a t'rant'ler. Any gent who'll take the trouble to recall one of these hairy, hoppin' t'rant'ler spiders who jumps sideways at you, full of rage an' venom, is bound to be reminded partic'lar of Hoppin' Harry.'

"'What did you-all use to be yourse'f, Colonel?' asks Enright, who notices that Hoppin' Harry is beginnin' to bristle some, like he ain't pleased none with these yere revelations. 'What for a anamile was you before you're a hooman?'

"'I was a good-nachered hoss,' says the Colonel mighty confident an'

prompt; 'I'm a good-nachered hoss in a country neighborhood, an'

everybody rides me that wants to. However, I allows we better shift the subject some. If we-all talks about these yere insects an'

reptiles a little longer, Huggins over thar--whose one weakness is he's too frank with an' puts too much confidence in his licker--will have another one of them attacks of second sight, which Peets cures him of that time, an' commence seein' a mult.i.tood of heinous visions.'

"'Of course,' says Enright, plumb p'lite, 'of course, Colonel, I can tell a whole lot about your fam'ly by jest lookin' at you; partic'lar where as at present you're about ten drinks ahead; still thar's nothin' gives me more pleasure than hearin' about the sire from the colt; an' if you won't receive it resentful, I'd ask you as to your folks back in Kaintuck.'

"'As you-all knows,' observes Colonel Sterett, 'I was foaled in Kaintucky; an' I must add, I never recalls that jestly cel'brated commonwealth with-out a sigh. Its glories, sech as they was before the war, is fast departin' away. In my yooth, thar is nothin' but a n.o.bility in Kaintucky; leastwise in the Bloo Gra.s.s country, whereof I'm a emanation. We bred hosses an' cattle, an' made whiskey an'

played kyards, an' the black folks does the work. We descends into nothin' so low as labor in them halcyon days. Our social existence is made up of weddin's, infares an' visitin' 'round; an' life in the Bloo Gra.s.s is a pleasant round of chicken fixin's an' flour doin's from one Christmas to another.'

"'Sech deescriptions,' remarks Enright with emotion an' drawin' the back of his hand across his eyes, 'brings back my yearlin' days in good old Tennessee. We-all is a heap like you Kaintucks, down our way. We was a roode, exyooberant outfit; but manly an' sincere. It's trooly a region where men is men, as that sport common to our neck of timber known as "the first eye out for a quart of whiskey"

testifies to ample. Thar's my old dad! I can see him yet,' an' yere Enright closes his eyes some ecstatic. 'He was a sh.o.r.e man. He stood a hundred-foot without a knot or limb; could wrastle or run or jump, an' was good to cut a 4-bit piece at one hundred yards, offhand, with his old 8-squar' rifle. He never shoots squirrels, my father don't; he barks 'em. An' for to see the skin cracked, or so much as a drop of blood on one of 'em, when he picks it up, would have mortified the old gent to death.'

"'Kaintucky to a hair,' a.s.sented the Colonel, who listens to Enright plenty rapt that a-way. 'An' things is so Arcadian! If a gent has a hour off an 'feels friendly an' like minglin' with his kind, all he does is sa'nter over an' ring the town bell. Nacherally, the commoonity lets go its grip an' comes troopin' up all spraddled out.

It don't know if it's a fire, it don't know if it's a fight, it don't know if it's a birth, it don't know if it's a hoss race, it don't know if it's a drink; an' it don't care. The commoonity keeps itse'f framed up perpetyooal to enjoy any one of the five, an'

tharfore at the said summons comes troopin', as I say. "'My grandfather is the first Sterett who invades Kaintucky, an' my notion is that he conies curvin' in with Harrod, Kenton, Boone an'

Simon Girty. No one knows wherever does he come from; an' no one's got the sand to ask, he's that dead haughty an' reserved. For myse'f, I'm not freighted to the gyards with details touchin' on my grandfather; he pa.s.ses in his chips when mebby I'm ten years old, an' the only things about him I'm sh.o.r.e of as a child, is that he's the greatest man on earth an' owns all the land south of the Ohio river.

"'This yere grandfather I'm talkin' of,' continyoos the Colonel after ag'in refreshin' himse'f with some twenty drops, 'lives in a big house on a bluff over-lookin' the Ohio, an' calls his place "The Hill." Up across one of the big stone chimleys is carved "John Sterett," that a-way; which I mentions the same as goin' to show he ain't afeard none of bein' followed, an' that wherever he does come p'intin' out from, thar's no reward offered for his return.'

"'I ain't so sh.o.r.e neither,' interjects Texas Thompson. 'He might have shifted the cut an' changed his name. Sech feats is frequent down 'round Laredo where I hails from, an' no questions asked.'

"'Up on the roof of his ranch,' goes on the Colonel, for he's so immersed in them mem'ries he don't hear Texas where he rings in his theeries, 'up on the roof my grandfather has a big bell, an' the rope is brought down an' fetched through a auger hole in the side of the house, so he can lay in bed if he feels like it, an' ring this yere tocsin of his while so minded. An' you can bet he sh.o.r.ely rings her! Many a time an' oft as a child about my mother's knees, the sound of that ringin' comes floatin' to us where my father has his house four miles further down the river. On sech o'casions I'd up an' ask:

"'" Whatever is this yere ringin'?"

"'"Hesh, my child!" my mother would say, smotherin' my mouth with her hand, her voice sinkin' to a whisper, for as the head of the House of Sterett, every one of the tribe is plumb scared of my grandfather an' mentions him with awe. "Hesh, my child," says my mother like I relates, "that's your grandfather ringin' his bell."

"'An' from calf-time to beef-time, from the first kyard out of the box down to the turn, no one ever knows why my grandfather does ring it, for he's too onbendin' to tell of his own accord, an' as I states prior, no one on earth has got nerve an' force of character enough to ask him.

"'My own father, whose name is the same as mine, bein' w.i.l.l.yum Greene Sterett, is the oldest of my grandfather's chil'en. He's a stern, quiet gent, an' all us young-ones is wont to step high an'

softly whenever he's pesterin' 'round. He respects n.o.body except my grandfather, fears nothin' but gettin' out of licker.

"'Like my grandfather up at "The Hill," my father devotes all his talents to raisin' runnin' hosses, an' the old faun would have been a heap lonesome if thar's fewer than three hundred head a nickerin'

about the barns an' pastures. Sh.o.r.e! we has slaves too; we has n.i.g.g.e.rs to a stand-still.

"'As I look r'arward to them days of my infancy, I brings to mind a staggerin' blow that neighborhood receives. A stern-wheeler sinks about two hundred yards off our landin' with one thousand bar'ls of whiskey on board. When the news of that whiskey comes flyin' inland, it ain't a case of individyooals nor neighborhoods, but whole counties comes stampedin' to the rescoo. It's no use; the boat bogs right down in the sand; in less than an hour her smoke stack is onder water. All we ever gets from the wrack is the bell, the same now adornin' a Presbyter'an church an' summonin' folks to them services. I tells you, gents, the thoughts of that Willow Run, an'

we not able to save so much as a quart of it, puts a crimp in that commoonity they ain't yet outlived. It 'most drives 'em crazy; they walks them banks for months a-wringin' their hands an' wishin' the impossible.'

"'Is any one drowned?' asks Faro Nell, who comes in, a moment before, an' as usual plants herse'f clost to Cherokee Hall. 'Is thar any women or children aboard?'

"'Nell,' says the Colonel, 'I apol'gizes for my ignorance, but I'm bound to confess I don't know. Thar's no one knows. The awful fact of them one thousand bar'ls of Willow Run perishin' before our very eyes, swallows up all else, an' minor details gets lost in the shuffle an' stays lost for all time. It's a turrible jolt to the general sensibilities, an' any gent who'll go back thar yet an' look hard in the faces of them people, can see traces of that c'lamity.

"'As a child,' resoomes the Colonel, 'I'm romantic a whole lot. I'm carried away by music. My fav'rite airs is "Smith's March," an'

"Cease Awhile Clarion; Clarion Wild an' Shrill." I either wants something with a sob in it 'like "Cease Awhile," or I desires War with all her horrors, same as a gent gets dished up to him in "Smith's March."

"'Also, I reads Scott's "Ivanhoe," ain longs to be a croosader, an'

slay Paynims. I used to lie on the bank by the old Ohio, an' shet my eyes ag'in the brightness of the sky, an' figger on them setbacks we'd mete out to a Payaim if only we might tree one once in old Kaintucky. Which that Saracen would have sh.o.r.ely become the basis of some ceremonies!

"'Most like I was about thirteen years old when the Confederacy declar's herse'f a nation, elects Jeff Davis President, an' fronts up for trouble. For myse'f I concedes now, though I sort o' smothers my feelin's on that p'int at the time, seein' we-all could look right over into the state of Ohio, said state bein' heatedly inimical to rebellion an' pawin' for trouble an' rappin' its horns ag'in the trees at the mere idee; for myse'f, I say, I now concedes that I was heart an' soul with the South in them onhappy ruptures. I breathed an' lived with but one ambition, which is to tear this devoted country in two in the middle an' leave the fragments that a- way, in opposite fields. My father, stern, ca'm, c'llected, don't share the voylence of my sentiments. He took the middle ag'in the ends for his. The att.i.toode of our state is that of nootrality, an'

my father declar'd for nootrality likewise. My grandfather is dead at the time, so his examples lost to us; but my father, sort o'

projectin' 'round for p'sition, decides it would be onfair in him to throw the weight of his valor to either side, so he stands a pat hand on that embroglio, declines kyards, an' as I states is nootral.

Which I know he's nootral by one thing:

"'"w.i.l.l.yum," he'd say that a-way when he'd notice me organizin' to go down to the village; "w.i.l.l.yum," he'd say. "if anybody asks you what you be, an' speshul if any of them Yankees asks you, you tell 'em that you're Union, but you remember you're secesh."

"'The Sterett fam'ly, ondoubted, is the smartest fam'ly in the South. My brother Jeff, who is five years older than me, gives proofs of this, partic'lar. It's Jeff who invents that enterprise in fishin', which for idleness, profit an' pastime, ain't never been equalled since the flood, called "Juggin' for Cats." It's Jeff, too, once when he ups an' jines the church, an' is tharafter preyed on with the fact that the church owes two hundred dollars, and that it looks like n.o.body cares a two-bit piece about it except jest him, who hires a merry-go-round--one of these yere contraptions with wooden hosses, an' a hewgag playin' toones in the center--from Cincinnati, sets her up on the Green in front of the church, makes the ante ten cents, an' pays off the church debt in two months with the revenoos tharof.

"'As I sits yere, a relatin' of them exploits,' an' Colonel Sterett tips the canteen for another hooker, 'as I sits yere, gents, all free an' sociable with what's, bar none, the finest body of gents that ever yanks a cork or drains a bottle, I've seen the n.o.bility of Kaintucky--the Bloo Gra.s.s Vere-de-Veres--ride up on a blood hoss, hitch the critter to the fence, an' throw away a fortune buckin'