CHAPTER X

THE ASHGRAVES

TH

HE next morning, to unravel some of the tangles, Barnaby sought Blanket, the stage driver, and mounted on the seat beside him gossiped through the first half of the journey to the station, thereby bestowing on Blanket the keenest pleasure that could come into his life.

"That critter, Ashgrave," he said, letting the lines hang loose on the back of the horse, that moved at a pace between a slow walk and a dead stop, “is 'bout as o'nary as a bile dish. Thar hain't no denyin' he come honestly by it, fur ef the Gov'ner 'd wanted somebody as moderator to a meetin' of all the cussed crooked sticks in Maine, his father 'd ben the chice of ev'ry man thet knew him. They du say thet when th' Ol' Feller found thet Reuben Ashgrave 'd got a ticket fur his dominion, he kicked like a brindle steer in fly-time, an' come nigh throwin' up his job."

"What was the trouble with him?" Barnaby asked. Blanket looked at him as if to ask what he thought he was made of to be able to answer such a question.

"Ef thar war enything thet war n't the matter with him," he said finally, "'t was cause thar war n't room in one tarnal carkis fur it all to get in. The wust thing about him, ef thar war eny wust thing, was thet he war the gol-durndest nicest man thet ever lived when he was nice, and the durndest, ugliest whelp of Satan, when he war n't. Ef he only could hev bottled up his temper fur use, thar 'd ben no need o' blastin' powder."

Barnaby felt the picture of the man and saw in it the logical reason for the man he knew. It occurred to him, however, that in the course of nature there must be a mother somewhere in the arrangement, and he asked of her. Blanket dropped his voice and looked uneasily from under the brim of his rough straw hat.

"She war from down the river som'wheres," he said. "Reuben hed one o' his quarrels with his father 'n up an' lit out, an' when he cum back, jest like a chicken or a cuss, he brought her with him. It stood to reason, o' course, they'd ben married, 'cause when it's so easy, nobody but a tarnal fool 'd take the chances, an' anyway, I guess she war n't thet kind. They du say she war a schoolmarm, an' anyway she could talk like a book an' you'd set all night to hear her, ef you did n't get sleepy, she war thet grammatical. The ol' folks did n't last long a'ter he cum back, an' then they hed it all their own way up thar in thet hole in the hills, an' a'ter Joe come thet 's this one they said he acted more like folks, an' she hed a easier time. I guess, though, 't was hard enough, fur she grew about five year old ev'ry year, an' was nigh on to sixty when Reuben killed her."

"Killed her!" exclaimed Barnaby. "Killed his wife?" Blanket nodded slowly and with a gossip's delight in the climax of his story.

"Thet 's what I sed," he answered, "an' I hain't afeered o' bein' took up fur slander 'cause I say it. 'T was one night when the wind was blowin' like all possessed, when ol' man Seagrave -he war n't's old then by ten year as he be now felt somebody a shakin' him an' he kinder opened his eyes, and thar by his bed stood Joe Ashgrave a cryin' an' with a lantern in his hand, an' he ses, ses he, 'Mammy 's fell down stairs an'

hurt herself an' dad sent me to get you to go fur the doctor.' In course he went, an' when they got thar, thar was Mis' Ashgrave a layin' on the kitchen floor stun dead, an' Reuben a kneelin' down by her an' takin' on like all possessed. Joe was kinder crouched up in the corner, a lookin' frightened, an' a starin' at his father's ef he war the Ol' Feller himself, which I hain't sayin' he war n't."

"But how does that make out he killed her?" demanded Barnaby.

The horse had come to a stand, and Blanket was forced to set him going again before he could go on with his story.

"Git up," he called, plying the whip; "'t ain't the fust time you've heered this story, an' enyway your only business is to get the mail to the deepot in time. As I war sayin'," he resumed, "Mis' Ashgrave, she war dead, an' the boy war scarter 'n two boys 'd know how tu be, ef they hed n't seen so’thing; an' all he'd say was, 'Mammy fell down stairs an' hurt herself.' They could n't get nothin' out o' him but thet, an' it's all he's ever sed to this blessed day. As for Reuben, he war jest that tarnal wild he could n't tell nothin', an' he never got his sense agin up to his death two year ago this fall comin'. So'thin' happened thet night up thar in thet pocket among them hills, an' ef 't war n't murder, I'd like to know what in thunder it was."

"Had anybody ever seen him treat her badly?" demanded Barnaby.

"Not 's I know on.

du in private."

Thar's more 'n our prayin' we

"He appeared to love her, did n't he?"

Blanket looked as if the question struck him as pecu

liarly silly.

"Most ginerally," he expounded his theory of life, "thar hain't nobody a woman wants more protectin' aginst than a man thet 's in love with her."

"Well, I don't see a thing to prove that he killed her," asserted Barnaby.

"Thet hain't the way we look at it," said Blanket slowly. "Thar hain't nothin' to prove he did n't, an' until thar is, we take the benefit of the doubt. I guess ef that hain't law, it 's human nater."

"And Ashgrave lives there all alone?" demanded Barnaby.

"Whar in timenation would he live?" exclaimed Blanket. "Most folks w'd rayther take the chances with a two year old bull in breedin'-time than hev him round, I guess; 'ceptin' with the boys an' gels, they would n't hesitate between him an' a full grown vig'rous Injin devil."

"So the boys and girls like him, do they?" asked Barnaby.

"Thet 's the durndest cur'usest thing ye ever hearn tell on. Thar hain't a boy round here but w'd resk a lickin' any day fur the sake o' bein' with him a hour; an' as fur the gels - wall, gels don't get no sense anyways till they're old enough to be your gran'mother, even ef they do then!"

"Why don't he get married, instead of living there alone, like a ground-hog in a hole?"

'Cause the fathers an' mothers keep their darters tied to their ap'on strings when he 's round. As fur the gels themselves, he c'd hev a Hiram up thar ef he'd marry all that w'd say 'yes' ef he axed 'em. Thet 's what they call it when a feller hes a plural'ty or clean major'ty o' wives I furget which. It's 'cause of a feller named Hiram Smith, over Westfud way, who

married two women simultinous, thet is at one an' the same time. I donno what he wanted to du it fur. I found one woman a clean major'ty an' some votes to spare."

"But you're thinking of trying it again," laughed Barnaby.

"Yep; but I've hed twenty year to get over the fust attack, and then I'm pas' sixty, and a 'ter sixty a man's a nateral-born darned fool 's fur 's women is consarned, which hain't sayin' they been't afore thet."