The Run for the Elbertas by James Still

Author:James Still
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: The University Press of Kentucky
Published: 2014-10-19T21:00:00+00:00

Under the sirup kettle fire blazed so lively the darkness was eaten away, and pale glimmers of lanterns swallowed, and far tops of the gilly trees lit. I sat on a heap of milled sorghum stalks, my molassy spoon ready, anxious to taste the foam. Jimp crouched beside me, grinding his teeth in anger. He’d heard his ferret was dead, and he stared auger holes at Bailus and Squire Letcher. Oh, Bailus hadn’t got rid of the squire. The squire rested on an empty keg, sighing wearily and clapping a hand to his mouth.

I had Jimp point Rant Branders out. Rant appeared barebones, yet in height he stood taller than the Buckhearts. He was long armed and long legged, and a grain awkward. I said, “I bet he’s a cagey one. He’s a green grasshopper of a man.” And I began counting the people who had come to the stir-off. I named my fingers five times and over. I saw Plumey whispering to a bunch of girls, and Old Gid moseying around wondering at the crowd, and Peep Eye flitting here and yon like a silk butterfly. I kept gazing at Peep Eye.

“My beastie’s stone dead,” Jimp glummed. “That law-square and Bailus’s to blame. Had I a chip o’ money I’d hire fellers to trick them into the sorghum hole. Be-dogs, I would.”

“Fellers’d be scared of a magistrate,” I said. “Anyhow, your ferret wasn’t shot a-purpose. Hit was mistook for a rabbit.”

“My pap hain’t afeared o’ the Law. He could scare that square in without tipping him.”

I caught Peep Eye watching me, and I wanted to leave the sorghum heap. I saw her face was pouty and cold. I thought inside my head, “Hit’s not like what Jimp said. I bet she hates my gizzard,” but I said aloud to Jimp, “I’m bound to eat molassy foam when it’s first done. Hain’t but one thing better, and that’s pull-candy.”

Jimp harped his troubles. “Rant’s broke his swear-word. He promised me knucks to fit, and then made ’um shooting big. They’d fit UZ.” He fetched them from a pocket and the finger places were the size of quarter-dollars. “I’ve struck an idee I don’t want that fence rail for a brother-in-law. Oh, my pap could jounce him with one arm tied.”

“Rant hain’t grown yit,” I said. “He might grow thick. Already he’s a high tall feller.”

We went to stand by the sirup kettle, breathing the mellow steam hungrily, watching the golden foam rise. Leander chunked the fire and U Z ladled green skimmings into the sorghum hole. The hole was waist-deep and marked by a butterweed stalk. U Z joked us, “Dive in, boys, and you kin stand yore breeches in a corner tonight.” We stepped warily.

Old Gid came with Mrs. Buckheart to test the sirup, spinning drops off of chips, tasting. Gid said, “Stir till it ’gins making sheep’s eyes, and mind not to over-bile.” He stared unbelievingly at the crowd. “Only a funeral occasion or a marrying would draw such a swarm, and I’ve heard o’ nobody dying.

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