The Yearling

Chapter VI

The ‘coon sucked greedily at his sugar-teat. He lay on his back, cupped in Jody’s arm, and clutched the sugar-filled cloth with his fore feet. He closed his eyes blissfully. His small paunch was already round with milk and shortly he pushed the sugar-teat away and scrambled to be free. Jody lifted him to his shoulder. The ‘coon parted his hair and felt along his neck and ears with his small, restless hands.

“His hands is never still,” Fodder-wing said.

Pa Forrester spoke from the shadows beyond the hearth. Jody had not noticed him, he sat so quiet.

“I had me a ‘coon when I were a young un,” he said. “Hit were gentle as a kitten for two yare. Then one day hit bit a chunk outen my shin.” He spat into the fire. “This un’ll grow up to bite. Hit’s ‘coon nature.”

Ma Forrester came into the cabin and went to her pots and pans. Her sons trooped in behind her; Buck and Mill-wheel, Gabby and Pack, Arch and Lem. Jody looked puzzled at the dried and wizened pair that had bred these mountainous men. They were all much alike, except Lem and Gabby. Gabby was shorter than the rest and not unduly bright. Lem alone was clean-shaven. He was as tall as any of them, but thinner, and not so dark, and had the least to say. He often sat apart, brooding and sulky, while Buck and Mill-wheel, the most boisterous, caroused.

Penny Baxter came in, lost among them. Pa Forrester continued his discourse on the nature of ‘coons. No one listened but Jody, but the old man relished his own words.

“That ‘coon’ll grow up to where he’s big as a dog. He’ll whop ary dog on the yard. A ‘coon lives for one thing, to whop a dog. He’ll lie on his back in the water and fight a hull pack o’ dogs. He’ll drown ‘em, one by one. And bite? A ‘coon’ll bite one more time after he’s dead.”

Jody was torn between the desire to follow him, and his interest in the talk of the other Forresters. He was surprised to see that his father still carried the worthless feice tenderly in his arms. Penny crossed the room.

“Howdy, Mr. Forrester. Proud to see you. How’s your health?”

“Howdy, sir. I’m right smart tol’able, seein’ as how I be near about done for. Truth to tell, I’d ought to be dead this minute and gone to glory, but I keep puttin’ it off. Seems like I’m better acquainted here.”

Ma Forrester said, “Set down, Mr. Baxter.”

Penny drew a rocker and sat down.

Lem Forrester called across the room, “Your dog lame?”

“Why, no. I’ve never knowed him to go lame. I jest figger on keepin’ him outen the jaws o’ them blood-hounds o’ yourn.”

“Valuable, eh?” Lem asked.

“Not him. He ain’t wuth a good twist o’ t’baccy. Don’t you-all aim to detain him when I leave here, for he’s not wuth stealin’.”

“You takin’ mighty good keer of him, iffen he’s that sorry.”

“So I be.”

“You had him on bear?”

“I’ve had him on bear.”

Lem came close and breathed down heavily.

“Do he track good? Do he holt a bear at bay?”

“He’s mighty sorry. Sorriest bear-dog I ever owned or follered.”

Lem said, “I never heered a man run down his own dog that-a-way.”

Penny said, “Well, I’ll admit he’s likely-lookin’, and most ary man’d want him, lookin’ at him, and I jest wouldn’t put no notion o’ tradin’ in your minds, for you’d git fooled and cheated.”

“You figger on huntin’ some on your way back?”

“Why, a man allus has huntin’ in his mind.”

“Hit’s mighty quare you toted a dog along wouldn’t be no good to you.”

The Forresters looked about at one another. They fell silent. Their black eyes were riveted on the feice.

“The dog’s no good and my old muzzle-loadin’ shotgun is no good,” Penny said. “I’m in a pure fix.”

The black eyes darted to the walls of the cabin, where the Forrester arms hung. The array, Jody thought, would stock a gun-shop. The Forresters made good money trading horses, selling venison and making moonshine. They bought guns as other men would buy flour and coffee.

“I never heered tell o’ you failin’ to git meat,” Lem said.

“I failed yestiddy. My gun wouldn’t shoot and when it did, hit back-fired.”

“What was you huntin’?”

“Old Slewfoot.”

A roar broke.

“Where’s he feedin’? Which-a-way did he come from? Where’s he gone?”

Pa Forrester thumped the floor with his cane.

“You fellers shut up and leave Penny tell it. He cain’t tell a thing, and you-all bellerin’ like bulls.”

Ma Forrester banged a pot-lid and lifted a pan of corn-bread as big, Jody thought, as a syrup kettle. The good smells from the hearth were overwhelming.

She said, “Don’t git Mr. Baxter started ‘til he’s et. Where’s your manners?”

“And where’s your manners,” Pa Forrester reproached his sons, “not givin’ comp’ny the chancet to wet his whistle afore dinner?”

Mill-wheel went into a bedroom and returned with a demi-john. He pulled out the corn-cob stopper and handed the jug to Penny.

“You’ll excuse me,” Penny said, “if I don’t drink deep. I ain’t got as big a place to put it as you fellers.”

They laughed uproariously. Mill-wheel passed the jug about the room.

“Jody?”

Penny said, “He ain’t old enough.”

Pa Forrester said, “Why, I were weaned on it.”

Ma Forrester said, “Pour me a noggin. In my cup.”

She ladled food into pans big enough to wash in. The long trenchered table was covered with steam. There were dried cow-peas boiled with white bacon, a haunch of roast venison, a platter of fried squirrel, swamp cabbage, big hominy, biscuits, cornbread, syrup and coffee. A raisin pudding waited at the side of the hearth.

“If I’d of knowed you was comin’,” she said, “I’d of cooked somethin’ fitten. Well, draw up.”

Jody looked at his father to see whether he too was excited by the savory plenty. Penny’s face was somehow grave.

“All this here is fine enough for the governor,” he said.

Ma Forrester said uncomfortably, “I reckon you folks gives thanks, to your table. Pa, hit won’t hurt you none to ask a blessin’, long as we got comp’ny.”

The old man looked about unhappily and folded his hands.

“Oh Lord, once more Thou hast done see fit to bless our sinnin’ souls and bellies with good rations. Amen.”

The Forresters cleared their throats and fell to. Jody sat opposite his father, and between Ma Forrester and Fodder-wing. He found his plate piled high. Buck and Mill-wheel slipped choice morsels to Fodder-wing. He passed them on under the table to Jody. The Forresters ate with concentration, silent for once. The food melted away before them. An argument arose between Lem and Gabby. Their father pounded on the table with his withered fist. They protested a moment at the intervention, then subsided. Pa Forrester leaned close to Penny and murmured in a low voice.

“My boys is rough, I know. They don’t do what they ought. They drink a heap and they fight and ary woman wants to git away from ‘em has got to run like a doe. But I’ll say this for ‘em — they ain’t nary one of ‘em has ever cussed his mammy or his pappy at the table.”