II.
Hog-killing was one of the events of a boy's life on a Western farm, andDaddy was destined to be associated in the minds of Shep and Milton withanother disagreeable job, that of building the fire, and carrying water.
It was very early on a keen, biting morning in November when Daddy camedriving into the yard with his rude, long-runnered sled, one horse halfhis length behind the other in spite of the driver's clucking. He wasdelighted to catch the boys behind in the preparation.
"A-a-h-h-r-r-h-h!" he rasped out, "you lazy vagabon's? Why ain't you gotthat fire blazin'? What the devil do y' mean, you rascals! Here it isbroad daylight, and that fire not built. I vum, sir, you need athrashin', the whole kit an bilun' of ye; yessir! Come, come, come!hustle now, stir your boots! hustle y'r boots--Ha! ha! ha!"
It was of no use to plead cold weather and damp chips.
"What has that got to do with it, sir? I vum, sir, when I was your age,I could make a fire of green red-oak; yessir! Don't talk to me of colds!Stir your stumps and get warm, sir!"
The old man put up his horses (and fed them generously with oats), andthen went to the house to ask for "a leetle something hot--mince pie orsassidge." His request was very modest, but, as a matter of fact, he satdown and ate a very hearty breakfast, while the boys worked away at thefire under the big kettle.
The hired man, under Daddy's direction, drew the bob-sleighs intoposition on the sunny side of the corn-crib, and arranged the barrel atthe proper slant while the old man ground his knives, Milton turning thegrindstone--another hateful task, which Daddy's stories could notalleviate.
Daddy never finished a story. If he started in to tell about ahorse-trade, it infallibly reminded him of a cattle trade, and talkingof cattle switched him off upon logging, and logging reminded him ofsome heavy snow-storms he had known. Each parenthesis outgrew itsproper limits, till he forgot what should have been the main story. Hisstories had some compensation, for when he stopped to try to recollectwhere he was, the pressure on the grindstone was released.
At last the water was hot, and the time came to seize the hogs. This wasthe old man's great moment. He stood in the pen and shrieked withlaughter while the hired men went rolling, one after the other, upon theground, or were bruised against the fence by the rush of the burlyswine.
"You're a fine lot," he laughed. "Now, then, sir, _grab 'im_! Why don'tye nail 'im? I vum, sir, if I couldn't do better'n that, sir, I'd sellout; I would, sir, by gol! Get out o' the way!"
With a lofty scorn he waved aside all help and stalked like a gladiatortoward the pigs huddled in one corner of the pen. And when the selectedvictim was rushing by him, his long arm and great bony hand swept out,caught him by the ear and flung him upon his side, squealing withdeafening shrillness. But in spite of his smiling concealment of effort,Daddy had to lean against the fence and catch his breath even while heboasted:
"I'm an old codger, sir, but I'm worth--a dozen o' you--spindle-leggedchaps; dum me if I ain't, sir!"
His pride in his ability to catch and properly kill a hog was as genuineas the old knight-errant's pride in his ability to stick a knife intoanother steel-clothed brigand like himself. When the slain shote wasswung upon the planking on the sled before the barrel, Daddy rested,while the boys filled the barrel with water from the kettle.
There was always a weird charm about this stage of the work to the boys.The sun shone warm and bright in the lee of the corn-crib; the steamrose up, white and voluminous, from the barrel; the eaves droppedsteadily; the hens ventured near, nervously, but full of curiosity,while the men laughed and joked with Daddy, starting him off on longstories, and winking at each other when his back was turned.
At last he mounted his planking, selecting Mr. Jennings to pull upon theother handle of the hog-hook. He considered he conferred a distincthonor in this selection.
"The time's been, sir, when I wouldn't thank any man for his help. No,sir, wouldn't thank 'im."
"What do you do with these things?" asked one of the men, kicking twoiron candlesticks which the old man laid conveniently near.
"Scrape a hawg with them, sir? What did y' s'pose, you numbskull?""Well, I never saw anything"----
"You'll have a chance mighty quick, sir. Grab ahold, sir! Swing 'imaround--there! Now easy, easy! Now, then, one, two; one, two--that'sright."
While he dipped the porker in the water, pulling with his companionrhythmically upon the hook, he talked incessantly, mixing up scraps ofstories and boastings of what he could do, with commands of what hewanted the other man to do.
"The best man I ever worked with. _Now turn 'im, turn 'im!_" he yelled,reaching over Jennings' wrist. "Grab under my wrist. There! won't yenever learn how to turn a hawg? _Now, out with 'im!_" was his next wildyell, as the steaming hog was jerked out of the water upon the planking."Now try the hair on them ears! Beautiful scald," he said, clutching hishand full of bristles and beaming with pride. "Never see anything finer.Here, Bub, a pail of hot water, quick! Try one of them candlesticks!They ain't no better scraper than the bottom of an old iron candlestick;no, sir! Dum your new-fangled scrapers! I made a bet once with old JakeRidgeway that I could scrape the hair off'n two hawgs, by gum, quicker'nhe could one. Jake was blowin' about a new scraper he had ...
"Yes, yes, yes, dump it right into the barrel. Condemmit! Ain't you gotno gumption?... So Sim Smith, he held the watch. Sim was a mighty goodhand t'work with; he was about the only man I ever sawed with who didn'tride the saw. He could jerk a cross-cut saw.... Now let him in again,now; _he-ho_, once again! _Roll him over now_; that foreleg needs a techo' water. Now out with him again; that's right, that's right! By gol, abeautiful scald as ever I see!"
Milton, standing near, caught his eye again. "Clean that ear, sir! Whatthe devil you standin' there for?" He returned to his story after apause. "A--n--d Jake he scraped away--_Hyare_," he shouted, suddenly,"don't ruggle the skin like that! Can't you see the way I do it? Leaveit smooth as a baby, sir--yessir!"
He worked on in this way all day, talking unceasingly, never shirking ahard job, and scarcely showing fatigue at any moment.
"I'm short o' breath a leetle, that's all; never git tired, but my windgives out. Dum cold got on me, too."
He ate a huge supper of liver and potatoes, still working away hard atan ancient horse-trade, and when he drove off at night, he had not yetfinished a single one of the dozen stories he had begun.