The Southerner | Page 5

Honey, I'm comin'!"
There was no question of doctor or nurse. The young pioneer mother
only asked for her mate.
For two fearful hours she gripped his rough hands until at last her nails
brought the blood, but the man didn't know or care. Every smothered
cry that came from her lips began to tear the heart out of his body at
last. He could hold the long pent agony no longer without words.
"My God, Nancy, what can I do for ye, Honey?"
Her breath came in gasps and her eyes were shining with a strange

intensity.
"Nothing, Tom, nothing now--I'm looking Death in the face and I'm not
afraid----"
"Please lemme give ye some whiskey," he pleaded, pressing the glass
to her lips.
"No--no, take it away--I hate it. My baby shall be clean and strong or I
want to die."
The decision seemed to brace her spirit for the last test when the
trembling feet entered the shadows of the dim valley that lies between
Life and Death.
The dark, slender figure lay still and white at last. A sharp cry from
lusty lungs, and the grey eyes slowly opened, with a timid wondering
look.
"Tom!" she cried with quick eager tones.
"Yes, Nancy, yes!"
"A boy?"
"Of course--and a buster he is, too."
"Give him to me--quick!"
The stalwart figure bent over the bed and laid the little red bundle in
her arms. She pressed him tenderly to her heart, felt his breath on her
breast and the joyous tears slowly poured down her cheeks.
III
Before the first year of the boy's life had passed the task of teaching his
good-natured, stubborn father became impossible. The best the wife
could do was to make him trace his name in sprawling letters that
resembled writing and painfully spell his way through the simplest

passages in the Bible.
The day she gave up was one of dumb despair. She resolved at last to
live in her boy. All she had hoped and dreamed of life should be his
and he would be hers. Her hands could make him good or bad, brave or
cowardly, noble or ignoble.
He was a remarkable child physically, and grew out of his clothes faster
than she could make them. It was easy to see from his second year that
he would be a man of extraordinary stature. Both mother and father
were above the average height, but he would overtop them both. When
he tumbled over the bear rugs on the cabin floor his father would roar
with laughter:
"For the Lord's sake, Nancy, look at them legs! They're windin' blades.
Ef he ever gits grown, he won't have ter ax fer a blessin', he kin jest
reach up an' hand it down hisself!"
He was four years old when he got the first vision of his mother that
time should never blot out. His father was away on a carpenter job of
four days. Sleeping in the lower bunk in the corner, he waked with a
start to hear the chickens cackling loudly. His mother was quietly
dressing. He leaped to his feet shivering in the dark and whispered:
"What is it, Ma?"
"Something's after the chickens."
"Not a hawk?"
"No, nor an owl, or fox, or weasel--or they'd squall--they're cackling."
The rooster cackled louder than ever and the Boy recognized the voice
of his speckled hen accompanying him. How weird it sounded in the
darkness of the still spring night! The cold chills ran down his back and
he caught his mother's dress as she reached for the rifle that stood
beside her bed.

"You're not goin' out there, Ma?" the Boy protested.
"Yes. It's a dirty thief after our horse."
Her voice was low and steady and her hand was without tremor as she
grasped his.
"Get back in bed. I won't be gone a minute."
She left the cabin and noiselessly walked toward the low shed in which
the horse was stabled.
The Boy was at her heels. She knew and rejoiced in the love that made
him brave for her sake.
She paused a moment, listened, and then lifted her tall, slim form and
advanced steadily. Her bare feet made no noise. The waning moon was
shining with soft radiance. The Boy's heart was in his throat as he
watched her slender neck and head outlined against the sky. Never had
he seen anything so calm and utterly brave.
There was a slight noise at the stable. The chickens cackled with louder
call. Five minutes passed and they were silent. A shadowy figure
appeared at the corner of the stable. She raised the rifle and flashed a
dagger-like flame into the darkness.
A smothered cry, the shadow leaped the fence and the beat of swift feet
could be heard