Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 April 1891 — CHUB. [ARTICLE]

CHUB.

A Romm of W Virginia.

BY DAVID LOWRY.

CHAPTER IV—Continued. A hush fell-over the crowd. “Will you jump again, Mr. Sloan?” Sloan turned on Bash angrily. “How high can you jump?” “Standing or running?” “Standin’.” For answer Bash put his right hand up to his chin. “I don’t believe it.” “Put a stick up, a string, rail—anything,” said Bash, coolly. Perkins and Sloan held a rail about four feet off the ground. Bash turned his back to it and jumped over it The big man clapped his hands. They placed the rail as high as his chin. He stood before it, then suddenly bounded high in the air over it The big man roared with laughter. “Now, Mr. Sloan,” said Bash, “you try it. ” Sloan jumped three times, but failed to come within three inches of the height Bash jumped. “How high can you kick?” demanded Sloan. “At least seven feet. ” Sloan had Perkins hold a stick against a tree just that distance from the ground, stood under it, sprang up and struck the stick with his right foot. Bash had Perkins raise the stick half an inch, rose the same way, and kicked the stick high in the air. Sloan tried again, half an inch higher, then an inch, until he put the stick up to eight feet six Inches. Then Dan Bash asked the big man to stand on a plow and hold the stick one foot higher. Sloan and Perkins laughed. Bash rose in the air suddenly, springing off his left foot, and his right sent the stick whirling. “Put it three inches higher,” as the crowd looked on dumfounded. What sort of a man was this, anyhow? “No, that’ll do,” said the jolly giant, laughing, “we don’t want you to kick the light out of the moon.” . *- • Whereat there was a roar of laughter. “How do you ras’le?” said Si Perkins suddenly. “Any way—upper or lower holds—-catch-as-ratch-can—any way that you prefer. ” “I used to ras’le a little.” “I like it—with any ofie who understands it ” “Well, strip then.” “Not if you don't want to tear my clothes. They went at it, catch-as-catch-can. In five seconds—less time—the “boss ras’ler of the county” was on the flat of his back. That made Si Sloan laugh, while Perkins was furious. “Anythin’ else you can’t do?” asked the jolly giant, good-humoredly. “1 can spar. ” “You mean box?” ! “I piss’’Said the giajht. Then there' ■was another shout of laughter. “Perkins will box with you.” “No, durned if I will,” said Perkins, now laughing. “He might out-box me. I think Bill Peters might give him a trial.” There was another shout of laughter. Bill Peters’ head was hanging low enough now. “I reckon you’ll have to give Bash the school,” said the big man. . “Of course,” said Sloan. “Any man’ that can do what he does—durned if I i know how he does it—can take the 1 school, ” - • ~s<“I’es, he's got a right to it,” said Perkins. “Stranger, how much do you weigh, jest as you are?” “One hundred and seventy-nine pounds,” said Bash, smilingly. “Great Jehosaphat, Sloan! Just feel of his arms and legs.” Sloan felt; then he stood back. “Mr. Bash, you’re the biggest man of your size I ever seed. Shake. ” Then Bash shook hands all around. The last man to hold his hand was the big man, who shook his hand cordially. .“I would like to know your name, sir.” “My name? Lord! Everybody knows Hank Dawson!” “Hank Dawson!” “Yes; I’m the blacksmith at the Corners. ” So this man whom he had taken a sudden liking to, and whose very smile inspired confidence, was Chub's father. CHAPTER V. CHUB DAWSON'S ENGAGEMENT. “I would like to get better acquainted with you, Mr. Dawson,” said Bash, as they stood a little apart, while many of the crowd looking at them marveled at the strength and suppleness of the newcomer in the mountain -district “You’re welcome to my house. Everybody is,” said Hank Dawson. “Then I am included among i he crowd. ” “Yes. Though we’ll be more like friends, if you are as square as you look.” The blacksmith looked him all over. “But you are the most deceivin' man I’ve met. Where did you learn it? Travel with a circus?” Bash laughed. “No? I’ll swon I don't see where else you picked it up. Do you know, you’ve outjumped and outras’led the best men in the county—you have, Bash.” Dawson chuckled. It was fun for Dawson. ’‘There’s one thing I can’t do.” “What’s that?” “I can’t lift half as much as you, nor hit as hard.” Dawson laughed. “I don’t know about that If I wanted to wallop an apprentice I wouldn’t hire you.” The crowd soon separated after that, and every man there told such stories of the prowess of the new teacher that their acquaintances promptly called them liars. But there were many who had reason to believe the stories told. And when Dan Bash entered the school there was not a scholar there who questioneo his right to rule them. The school was very orderly and obedient for the first time since it had been been opened.

The young men did not care to tackle a teacher who could kick nine feet nine inches high with one foot, nor did they <*are to wrestle with the man that laid Hi Perkins on his back. The Monks did not go to schoo’. They were bent upon driving Dan Bash out of the district. They plainly foresaw his permanent residence, and success there meant loss of prestige to them sooner or later. If he should become popular, their popularity with the roughest portion of the community would be a thing of the past They must get rid of Dan Bash somehow. But how? That was what bothered the Monk brothers aud the men who followed them. At first they seriously thought of breaking up the school Bill Monk very soon discovered that plan wouldn’t work. Bad as the county was, the people wouldn’t like to be pointed out as the most reprehensible people in the State. “It would not do to get all the decent people down on them,” Bill Monk said, to which Ned Monk sorrowfully assented. “Same time, Bill” said Ned, “'won’t do to have people talking about this efiap so much. Tell you what —let’s tell he’s not so much to brag of, or a feller that can do .so much, and knows so awful much as Dan Bash does, wouldn’t be foolin’ in his time teachin’ school way up here. ” “That’s a blame good idea,” said Bill Monk. “We’ll work it for all it's worth. Blamed if I think he is straight. He’s i likely got powerful reasons for coming up here.” So that it seemed to the Monks quite clear now that, if they managed it right, they would “give Dan Bash a heap of bother before long. ” Meantime Dan Bash was making friends every day. There was a good deal of speculation concerning the young man whom nobody knew anything about, further than he chose to tell. And he said very little. He had reasons to keep his own counsel, he thought. At least ho kept his affairs to himself. If there was anybody more than another who knew who and what Dan Bash was. people said it was Hank Dawson. The schoolteacher was a frequent visitor at the blacksmith’s. It was pretty well known, too, why he went there. Chub Dawson’s beauty and high spirit was as well known —as widely known—as her father's smithy and great strength, for Hank Dawson was a giant in strength. He had lifted one flourbarrel and set it on top of its fellow, and a thixd on tqp of the second, something unheard of, As the giant of the Corners sat beside his fire, smoking and listening to Dan Bash relating his pranks at college— Which Dan did some time for Hank’s diversion—he would laugh heartily. “There ain’t many young chaps like that,” he would say to his only daughter, Chub, when Bash went away. One evening, after Dan Bash bade them good-night, Chub leaned over he> father s shoulders and stroked his hair softly, as she said: “You seem to think a good deal of Dan Bash, dad.” “Well, a sort of way—yes. He’s a mighty knowing chap.” “And he seems to be square out and out. ” “Yes; he does.” “And he’s lively company?” “Powerful lively.” Hank Dawson's mouth was drawn down now. He was resolved his daughter should lead the talking. “Dad!”. “Well?” “Dan Bash has asked me. ” “Hel.lo! Hello!” Hank Dawson knew very well what was in the air. He had good eyesight. “You don’t mind, dad.” “Yes I do. Ain’t it my business?” “Yes. Of course it is. And I told htm'H.was. And he knows unless you"' Hke him it’s no use his coinin’ ’round any “Chub,” said Hank Dawson, “you’re the best girl from here to the forks of the road. He’s a blamed handsome fellow. I don’t know nothing about him more than just what he tells us; but I like him, and if he can satisfy you and me—why, then, that's all there’s to be said. You’ll set the day, and we’ll marry you to him. I don’t count on giving you up—l won’t do that. ” “No, dad. I told him I wouldn't leave you, for you’ve been father and mother to me. Besides, there's a way for all of us here. That's settled on. ” “I knew it. Chub.” “Of course you did. I’d like to see the man who would take me away from you. You’ve got to have your pipe and sit by the fire, or it wouldn’t be like home to me. ” “That’s just like you, Chub —just like you.” There were tears in Hank Dawson’s eyes, but he wiped them away furtively and Chub did not see them. So it was soon known to every one that Dan Bash was going to marry Chub Dawson, the blacksmith’s daughter. Mr. Potts stood on the porch telling it to all the travelers as the latest news; his wife, not content with assisting her husband at the tavern, went around ataiong the neighbors relating all and much more than she knew concerning the preparations for the wedding. Hank Dawson was going into the town to buy her a new silk dress—a blue silk dress, and a white bonnet and white veil. Chub was going with him, of course—“how could Hank Dick things for a gal?” It was true. For some reason Dan Bash had been very anxious to get the wedding over. Chub wanted more time —she was determined not to be married so soon—but Dan Bash was an ardent lover. He pressed her so that she consented to marry him in a month. The engagement enraged the Monks. The marriage must be prevented at all hazards. With such an ally as Hank Dawson, the power of the Monks would soon be a thing of the past. Two such men as Baah and Dawson would rule the county—or so much of it as was useful to the Monks. “They'll never marry," said Ned Monk. “I won’t say they mayn’t marry,” said Bill Monk, meaningly; “but if they do— I say If —they won't live together very long. ” This speech was rounded with a terrible oath. Squatty, who was present, looked at Bill Monk fearfully. He had a horror of the schoolmaster ever since he had heard that he could kick nearly ten feet high, and tumbled Hi Perkins on his back. “It's mighty ticklish business ” The Monk brothers looked at Squatty contemptuously. “You'll find it much more ticklish if

this chap and Hank Dawson discover what they're bound to learn soon. ” “You don’t think—tain’t sure they’ll know. • “Ain’t it?” “No, of course not. ” As the brothers laughed, Squatty shivered. He was afraid of his shadow at times. And they had compelled him to help them in all their villainous enterprises. “What makes you two laugh?” “You poor fool!” said Bill Monk, “don’t you know there’s detectives on the hunt? We haven’t been buyin’ horses, ’n guns, ’n powder—hats, ’n gloves, ’n all sorts o’ traps —without people knowin’ it. We don’t steal all we’ve got It’s natrel we’ll be suspected, and when we are brot up for’t we want to get a mighty cute lawyer. First time’s nothin’. We can swear and lie through, unless we’re fooled by our lawyer. But if this chap aud Hank Dawson pull together, and Dawson finds out the lay of the land ” “What do you mean by the lay of the land?” Squatty asked. “Why, can’t you see? Chub will tell her father —if he don’t know it now—all that happened on the road, and before we reached the spring that day Bash fought us.” Bill Monk spoke seriously now. “They’re bound to side against us, just as we’re bound to go agin Bash an’ agin Dawson, too, if we can’t get Bash out of the way somehow.” Ned Monk frowned as he spoke to Squatty. “Say, when does the weddin’ come off?” Squatty inquired suddenly. “Two weeks from to-morrow—sure as fate. Chub and her dad has told everybody, and so has Dan Bash. ” “Suppose something should prevent Bash from going to his own wedding?” The Monks looked at Squatty curiously. “It would be bad if he didn't go to his own wedding; it would be better if he couldn’t go to anybody’s wedding never again,” said Ned Monk. “Yes. ” “Tell us what you would do to prevent it, Squatty.” Squatty looked around him nervously. Then he spoke in a lower tone. The Monks listened attentively. Then they slapped their poor tool on the shoulder. “Bully for you, Squatty! That’s a prime idea. We’ll carry it out as sure as you are a sinner. And, Squatty, you’ll get all the credit of the plan.” Then the Monk brothers laughed again. Squatty shivered. “You won't put it all on me,” he whined. “Pooh! We’re all in for it, Squatty. It's everybody’s business now. If one goes we’ll all go, so you needn’t be afraid. If they catch you you’ll have plenty of company. ” , CHAPTER VI. Chub and her father verified all the rumors by inviting their friends to the wedding. Then they went to the nearest town to buy her wedding dress and such appointments as Dawson was determined his daughter should have. “I’ve got plenty of money,” he said to his friends. “I’ve earned it for Chub, and she's bound to have the best.” That was sufficient. Everybody applauded Hank Dawson’s decision. It was politic to do so. Hank was inviting a crowd to the wedding. There would be abundance to eat and drink—fiddlers for a hundred, fun for everybody. And everybody wanted to be “on hand” at Chub’s wedding. Chub’s wedding was the talk of the country for miles around. It was an extraordinary event. She was the prettiest girl in that region. She was the smartest and the most spirited. She was the best cook and the best shot. She could manage the jnost unruly horse, and men had stood in not a little awe of her. She had hosts of admirers, and it was never known thajt_any one had been so coufageduAas to askner to marry him. Above all, she would have more ftoney than any girl in the entire district. Hank Dawson had ever so much money in bank, had inherited a fortune from a brother who died in a distant city, and was able to point to three fine farms within sight of his own home. And all would go to Chub when Hank Dawson died. course, now that the marriage was approaching, Dan Bash was congratulated daily. His good fortune was remarked. To the surprise of all, Dan Bash took the compliments as a matter of course. He did not think he was bound to be grateful to Hank Dawson, and he plainly intimated as much when occasion seemed to demand the expression of his independence. “I am to be envied for securing one of the best women in the world,” he said more than once. “In my opinion, Belle Dawson is the equal of any woman in the State. ” That was the manner in which he referred to the woman he was going to marry. He seemed to think he was the equal of any man or woman; he did not assume superiority, but it was quite a matter of course that the prettiest and richest and cleverest girl in the county should be willing to marry him. [to be continued.]