XVII Bill on War

My Land, ’twas cold thet night I set with Bill Around the iron stove het up red hot An’ Bill a-stokin’ on’t with all ’is mite. He calls the room ’is “offis;” three four cheers, A bench, farm jurnels layin’ on a stand, Some books on cattle-feedin’—Bill’s he’s up Ter date on all thet stuff, tho’ he aint hed No the’ry trainin’ in them farmin’ schools— A book on “Soils”—the same ez siles, I s’pose— A walnut seckertry, some plants o’ Laury’s, A lot o’ calendars—with smartish women In droopy longish gowns a-ridin’ proud High-sperr’ted colts along a river whar A chap is ketchin’ traouts ez fast ez he Kin sling a worm, or mebbe it’s a fly— An’ Bill’s ol’ double bar’l behind the door. I’ve offen gassed with Bill in thet thar room O’ his when fokes was all a-bed ’n’ asleep. The frost was thicker’n cream on all the winders; Occazh’nully they’d be a pane ’thout none, Or kivered only ha’f, an’ ’f I looked out, Ez onct or twict I done, I seen a sight Thet made me clean fergit how cold it was: A sea o’ white ’way down ter “Thirty-One,” With waves o’ drifts piled ev’ry here an’ thar; An’ still—Jerushy! Still’s a mounting top Up thar amongst them craters on the moon. The only noise we heerd inside, ’cept co’se The fire, was snappin’ clabboards on the house, Like pistol shots thet kind o’ made us jump. “It’s twenty-six below,” sez Bill, ez he Throwed on another mess o’ coal; “I reck’n We’ll need them extry quilts ternight. I’m glad It’s be’n a-snowin’ some on thet ’ar field O’ wheat this week; they wouldn’t be no crop This spring if ’t hedn’t. Caint remember when It’s ever be’n so cold afore here’bouts. Reck’n Laury’s plants ’ll hev ter be brung up A leetle closter ter the stove; thet thar Jerainyum looks jessif ’twas fros’ bit now. Yew look like yew was tew,” he sez, an’ grinned. “I be,” I sez, “behind, but barbecued In front.” An’ then I mentioned cazhool like The war a-hangin’ ov’r us. Bill kep’ still At first, ’n’ I let ’im; then bimeby, julluk He’s talkin’ tew ’isself, he sez reel grave, “Ef’t comes, ’twill be the genooinest war Our fokes hez ever saw; an’ we’re about Ez ready for’t ’z a fat prize Berksheer barrer Would be ter fight a bunch o’ timber wolves. O’ co’se this here U. S. hez got back-bone, But ’pears ter me it’s—what’s thet word? I seen It t’other day an’ looked it up—O yes, It’s atrofide.... We gotta train ri’ down Ter razor-backs afore we’re enny good .... We’re all tew pussy ’n’ prizey ’n’ prosp’rus like Ter tech a wil’cat even with a fork.... ’F a hoss hez won blue ribbons to a fair, He prob’ly caint kick ha’f so long ’z a scrub Thet’s hard ez nails an’ workin’ ev’ry day.... An’ then agin I think we’re like “Ol’ Ben”; Yew ’member him—ez gentle ez a kitten, An’ big an’ fat, good-natured, easy goin’, Tho’ onct ’n a while they’s fire in ’is eye. They want no doubt thet he could lick ’is weight Twict over, but he never knowed it till— Yew prob’ly don’t recall the time thet young An’ fi’ry furrin bull o’ Otto’s bust Clean threw three fences jes’ ter hev a crack At Ben. I didn’t git thar till ’twas over, But heerd consid’bul ’bout it from the naybers. They said the younger critter kind o’ toyed With Ben a spell, an’ Ben was sort o’ dazed, But kep’ a-goin’ not scassly knowin’ what ’Twas all about; then later he got sore, ’Is dander an’ ’is blood come up, an’ say— The way he whaled thet hateful little cuss.... It took ’im all day tew, an’ not a soul Dast git up clost ter watch ’em fight it out.... Ol’ Ben was stannin’ kind o’ groggy when I come ter git ’im, ’n’ ev’ry little while He’d stop an’ paw an’ beller ’n’ lick ’is flank Like he’d be’n hit right smart; but he was all Right thar, ’n’ I hed ter laff.... They brung a pair O’ hosses up an’ hauled the other beast Somew’eres.... We never hed no better bull Then Ben was after thet; he wouldn’t look Fer trubble, an’ somehow ’r ’nother trubble seemed Ter not be look’n’ fer him. It done ’im good, We thought, an’ thet’s my idee ’bout this war.” “But how ’bout Lon,” I sez, “ef war should come?” Thet ketched ’im hard, an’ I was sorry ’t I Hed ast ’im sich a techy question, ’cos I knowed thet Lon was all they was ter go, Bill’s bigges’ boy—the rest was either gals Or els tew young—an’ Bill was allers jellus O’ Lon, like heffers be with their firs’ ca’f. I changed the subjec’, said how cold it was, An’ stomped aroun,’ an’ ’lowed I’d go ter bed. I said “good-night” an’ got ha’f way up stairs, When Bill he give a little cough behind An’ blowed ’is nose, ’n’ ’is words was drowndy like: “I’d see ’t he went.” An’ then a gust o’ wind Put out my light, ’n’ I thought how lucky ’twas, Altho’ I never would ’a’ looked at Bill When he was that ’a’ way.