Patrick Henry and the Frigate’s Keel: And Other Stories of a Young Nation (8 page)

He drifted west to Galveston, and after a short residence there, got across the Mexican border just a few steps in front of the sheriff. And in the lonely province of Yucatan, in Mexico, he died, forgotten, without glory or shouting.

They will tell you, down on the Delta, that he was born too late. “One hundred year earlier,” they tell you, “that Jean Laffite, he is one great man.”

4

Neighbor Sam

 

NEIGHBOR SAM

T
HE
trouble started the day that young lawyer showed up. First it rained and then it cleared, and then it rained and then it cleared, all in four days, and nobody ever knew any good to come of something like that. And then Pa shot a wolf not more than two hundred paces from the house, when there hadn't been a wolf in the neighborhood in maybe two years. And, as if that wasn't enough, the well went dry.

“I never seen to beat that,” Pa said. “I never seen a well go dry in such even weather, first rain, then shine, then rain.”

“Either coax water out of it or dig a new well,” Ma said.

“Not just a scratch well,” Pa said. “Twenty feet deep, and I rocked up the sides.”

Ma and Jenny and me, we got a rope and lowered Pa into the well. He mucked around in there for two or three hours, and when we pulled him up he was black from head to foot. But he hadn't coaxed out a drop of water.

“I got dishes to wash and greens to cook,” Ma said, her eyes narrowing. Pa nodded, and wiped some of the mud from his face; I guess he could see that Ma was already looking around and picking a spot for the new well.

Well, Pa was standing like that, full of mud and peevishness, when Matt Stevens rode up on his old mouse-colored mare. Pa and Matt had never got along since Pa decided against him last spring and awarded four sows in question to Jim Hogan. At that time, Matt called Pa an old idiot and said there wasn't much hope for a country that put the law into such hands as his. And ever since then he called Pa “Sam,” instead of “Squire,” like everyone else. Pa said Matt came from no-account folk who didn't know the meaning of respect.

“Now he ain't here for no good,” Pa muttered.

Stevens leaned over his mare and grinned at Pa. He said, “Lord, that's a lot of mud, Neighbor Sam.”

“Honest mud.”

“Maybe so,” Stevens nodded, still grinning.

“What's on your mind, Neighbor Stevens?” Ma asked. She knew that Pa and he had been spoiling for a fight ever since last spring, and now, the way Pa felt, she was anxious to be rid of Stevens quickly.

“Nothing—nothing. Just thought I'd stop by and pass the time of day.”

Pa grunted.

“Thought you might not know about the new lawyerman, being as how you're off the beaten track here.”

Pa stared. There was no trouble now knowing why Matt Stevens had come by to pay a call.

“We ain't heard of any lawyer-man excepting the Squire, here,” Ma said slowly.

“I reckoned you hadn't,” Matt grinned. “Of course, this feller's a mite different from the Squire, here. Just come into the village day before yesterday and took the old log house Frank Fellows built. Got it fixed up already and shingle hung out. Elmer Green, Counselor at Law. Parson Jackson been in to see him, and says he's a right smart young feller. Graduated out of Harvard. Got his degree framed up, and folks been going in and out all day to have a look at it. Got a desk and pen and ink and pile of paper that high. Got a row of law books that long.” He spread his arms as far apart as they would go.

Pa stared at his hands, rubbing the mud down the length of his fingers. Ma said, “Can't see that it matters to us how many lawmen set up hereabouts.” But I could see that Pa was worried. Twelve years now, since two months after I was born, Pa was the only lawman in this part of the country.

Not that Pa was a real lawman with a framed degree; but he was the sort of man other men looked up to. Twelve years past, when the Shawnees came down and burned out Zeke Cooly's farm and Aunt Elsie Hack's chicken run, Pa organized the defense at the fort. After that it wasn't any trouble for him to get the nomination for district judge, and every two years since then Pa was re-elected. In fact, the voting was just a formality; nobody had ever presumed to run against Pa.

But now I could see that Pa was hard hit, and you can be sure that what hit him hardest was Matt's description of a row of books about six feet long. Pa had a book; after he had been district judge four years, what with all sorts of fancy bits of law coming up, Pa decided that he didn't have enough law inside of his own head to handle everything. So, whenever anybody took a trip back east, Pa would say, “Pick me up a lawbook somewheres, if you see one handy.” There probably weren't many lawbooks handy, because it took nearly a year for one to come. But that was a fine book, all bound out in red leather with leafwork in real gold just covering it. People came in from all around to look at that lawbook for months on.

The only thing Pa had against that lawbook was the name on it. On the cover it said, “English Common Law.” Pa didn't hold against the “common law” part, since he considered common law good enough for himself and his neighbors; but the “English” part was a bone in his throat. The war of the colonies against England had been going on for five years then, and Pa didn't consider it right to deal law out of an English book. But since there wasn't any other lawbook within two hundred miles, Pa just scratched out the English part on the cover. The law inside suited folks fine.

Pa stood there rubbing the mud off his hands, and Matt Stevens sat on his old gray mare, grinning.

Finally, Pa said, “Now, maybe I ought to go in and make a calling visit with that new lawyer. He and I ought to get together on common law and such, if he's planning to try cases in my court.”

“I don't reckon he plans to,” Matt said comfortably.

“How?”

“I don't reckon he plans to,” Matt repeated, “seeing as how the election comes up soon, and how certain citizens of the community have asked him to run for district judge. They figure it ain't proper, calling an election without no contest. Also, they figure they might get a mite more law out of a Eastern lawman, with a degree all framed and hung.” He kicked at his mare, and called back, “Good luck, Neighbor Sam!”

“Good luck,” Pa muttered.

“I never did see no good come out of Matt Stevens,” Ma said.

“Rains one day, shines the next, kill a wolf on my own land, well goes dry, and now this.”

“Pa,” Jenny said, “Pa, don't go to worrying. Folks hereabouts aren't going to shuffle you out for any Eastern lawman.”

“That's gospel,” Ma nodded.

But Pa shook his head. His beard hung down against his chest, and he seemed old all of a sudden. He shuffled into the house.

I followed him and left Ma talking with Jenny. When I got into the house Pa was standing there with his book of common law, turning the pages slowly.

I sat down and waited for him to notice me. Finally, he said, “Hello, Jess.”

“Lord, I don't know whether I hate Matt Stevens more than that new lawman,” I said.

“Don't take the Name in vain,” Pa said, “and shut about hating. It ain't Christian, Jess. I ought to tan your hide.”

“Some day I'll get big enough to take a gun to Matt Stevens—”

But Pa didn't even hear me. He was staring at the lawbook.…

Pa had almost finished digging the new well, when he decided he was going to stump for the election. Out here, on our side of the mountains, you didn't find much argument for elections; if you reckoned a man was good for something, you voted him in, and there were hardly ever two men good for the same thing. But back East stumping for votes was becoming popular, and Pa had read about it in newspapers, usually a month or two old.

But what really decided him to go stumping was Jenny. My sister Jenny had turned eighteen then, and both Ma and Pa were after her to find a man who would make a good provider. She was a catch, all right, even though I didn't think so; people said Squire Burton's daughter would know how to run a home and a man. But, every time a boy was calling, Jenny had this or that to say about him. Even though Ma told her that in no time at all she would be an old maid.

Well, Pa began to have his doubts when more and more people turned off to our house to speak about the new lawman. They were so full of bits of law he had let drop about that Pa got good and nervous, so nervous that even his gathering good, clear water in the new well didn't cheer him any. And then, when the well was almost finished, the lawman himself came calling.

He rode up one day on a sleek brown horse, with fat saddlebags, such as any proper lawman might carry. Pa was working on the well, but when he heard the hoofs he h'isted himself up. Then he saw the strange face, knew right off it was the lawman, and dropped back. Pa didn't want any truck with him.

The lawman dismounted and called to me, “Sonny, what's your name?”

I didn't answer, but spat over my shoulder. If Pa had been there he would have whacked me; but Pa was down the well.

The lawman smiled. “Squire Burton around?” he inquired.

“I don't see him,” I said.

“He lives here, doesn't he?”

“Times when he does,” I said. It was hard to stand up against that lawman. He had a nice, square face and blue eyes that sparkled with interest as they looked at you; but I had made up my mind not to like him, and Pa had always said I would grow up into a stubborn man.

Just then Jenny saw us from the house, and she came running out.

The lawman said, “How do you do, miss? My name's Elmer Green. I rode up here to pay my respects to Squire Burton. He lives here, doesn't he?”

“He lives here,” Jenny nodded; but her eyes narrowed when she heard his name.

“Is he here?”

“He was a moment ago. Jess, you seen your Pa?”

“Not lately,” I said.

“Then he isn't here, and you needn't wait,” Jenny snapped.

The lawman turned his hat over and over in his hands. “Miss, I'm sorry if I offended you in any way. I aim to make friends here, not enemies.”

“We don't need new friends. My father had enough friends until you came. It's people like you who ruin this land, coming here where my father worked all his life, to tear down what he built.”

“That was not my intention, miss,” the lawman said softly. “This is a democracy we live in. And the great and necessary thing to any democracy is free election with more than one candidate.”

“My father judged this district well enough.”

“Well enough, I agree with you,” the lawman said. “And he'll continue to, probably. Only, this time people will choose between two of us—” They began to walk away from me, slowly. I stayed by the well.

Pa whispered, “Jess, did that lawyer go yet?”

“Not yet, Pa.”

“Well, keep an eye peeled.”

Pa stayed down that well at least an hour and a half. And it was drawing water, mind you. And all the time Jenny and the lawman sat in the shade of the house, talking. Jenny brought out some cold milk and some cake. Then the lawman mounted his horse.

“Tell Squire Burton I'll be around again,” he called.

After he had got out of sight in the woods I said to Pa, “You can come up now.”

Pa crawled up out of the well, muddy and soaking wet. Jenny came over and said, “My goodness, Pa, what were you doing down there all this time?”

“Looking for lizards,” Pa snapped.

“I was talking with Elmer Green,” Jenny said. “I like him.”

Well, it was then and there that Pa made up his mind to stump for the election.

Pa put off the stumping until just two or three days before the election. That was because Ma put her foot down and said that he'd look like an awful fool, going around and asking friends to vote for him.