Chicken Roost
A horseman broke out of a cove into the road as Godey and Mal approached, declaring to the world, âIâve been here and Iâm done gone.â That this was the new jockey ground was evident from the squeals and neighs issuing from it.
âWhatâs the trouble, old son?â Godey inquired. âToo early to be skipping off.â
âTwo hours from now there wonât be a soul hereabouts.â
âDonât go away mad,â said Godey.
âMad?â cried the horseman, giving his mount a cut with a switch. âIâm madderân forty hornets.â
At the behest of Judge Solon Jones, the county agriculture agent had chosen Chicken Roost Hollow as a makeshift swapping area, the judge paying four dollars out of his pocket for a dayâs rent, as well as putting up five as a prize for the log-pulling contest. The hollow was some eighteen poles in length, three at the widest, hemmed by wooded slopes. The lower reaches were mostly cleared, with a tree standing here and there. Save for the dry bed of the branch there was not a level spot in it, and a spring for watering man and beast was lacking. Drovers used it for an overnight cattle pen. Giant beeches higher up filtered the light, permitting the sun to look in only at midday.
A pair of horsemen were in parley at the entrance, wheeling and turning, barring the way, one astride a stud with fuzzy ears, whiskery muzzle, and bulging hindquarters, the mount of the other a slight blue-hued mare with little except color in the course of distinction.
âHod dammit, I aim to swap,â blared the master of the blue.
âOffer me something,â returned the owner of the stud.
The boys drew up to listen.
âEven.â
âGive me ten.â
âI said, even.â
âTen.â
âEven.â
âTen. Not a chip less.â
âFive.â
âYou heard me. Ten.â
âFive.â
âTen.â
âFive, dammit, five.â
The rider of the stud broke off suddenly, mouthing, âI havenât lost a thing in this hollow,â and deserted it at a smart pace, with the owner of the mare blatting after, âIf you go, Iâll cry.â
Seizing the opportunity, Godey made a pitch. âWant to buy a gentleman mule?â
The man on the mare gave the animal a swift appraisal, pointed into the hollow and notified, âThe grease buyer is up in there waiting for you sports,â and jerking rein was away in pursuit of the stud.
Hardly had the boys started than a rider bore down upon them and spun âround with the warning, âWatch yourself, you tads, these heels canât see,â and slapped his mount and loped up the bed of the stream shouting, âHoo-oo-ee, look what Iâve got.â He rode a chestnut mare in tolerable flesh and coat, tail plaited, a pompom on her bridle, and on gaining at least momentary attention from an otherwise distracted crowd, made his cry:
âRound and sound and slick as a mole,
Two good eyes and heavy in foal.â
A horseman offered chase, yelling âCan she work?â and received the answer, âYou dadjim right she can work, and she will work.â The run ended abruptly; a haggle ensued.
Godey and Mal stopped to get their bearings. The traders seemed numerous due to the lot of them being in view at once, not scattered, as formerly, throughout town. To Malâs satisfaction, the only person from home they sighted was Fester ShattuckâFester astride a peeled log, a saddle beside him, swapped out. The medicine hawker and his sidekick were not to be discovered, or the watch seller with chains dangling from his pockets, although the grease buyer representing a rendering factory downstate was present and had a couple of shikepokes tethered to a tree. Something was amiss, for trading did not appear the first order of business. Riders were drawn up in circles, twisting in saddles, jawing and spitting, and what they had to say was uttered for the entire gathering.
âIf youâre hunting yellow dogs, the courthouse is packed with them, the fellers we elected.â
âAmen, brother. Youâve spoken a parable.â
âTo the bull-hole with âem, the whole shebang.â
âExcept for Judge Jones. Spare him. He stayed to the bottom with us.â
âHim, too, by grabbies. Out with the danged push. If Solon Jones hasnât the power to control the others, heâs clogging the works.â
âThatâs the right talk. The old doddler has warmed the bench too long, nigh about burnt a hole in it.â
âYou have the judge wrong. He went the distance for us.â
âWhat took place, Iâll tell you; the politicians let the storekeepers put it over on us. Theyâve shoved us beyond sight and sound.â
Yet Chicken Roost was serving well in two particulars: There was no necessity to duck or hide to take up a drink of spirits, and shaded by towering beeches, the hollow was as cool as a cellar. From a variety of containersâbottles, jugs, fruit jarsâwhiskey was openly imbibed and shared.
âIâm wroth enough to set off dynamite,â a trader swore.
A raucous laugh followed, and an admonishment, âGo ahead and poot. The biggest noise youâll ever make.â
âDamn your eyes,â was the reply.
The rings broke up, several horsemen departing the hollow, the rest to see what they could manage under the circumstances. A scattering of complainers remained to grumble, ire unspent.
âNext year Iâll stick my dinner in my pocket and I wonât leave a copper cent in town.â
âThere wonât be another year, sky bo. Jockey Day is deaderân a nit.â
âYouâve said it. As finished as four oâclock.â âWhat struck me on the hairy side was the hiring of the skunk of the universe to do their dirty work.â âIâll go along with you on that, even if you are a tight-fisted Republican.â
âAnd Iâll agree with a spending Democrat this final once. Next election Iâll wade manure to my knees if I have to go vote against âem, be they Democrat, Republican, or straddle-pole.â
âAmen, ratâs nest. Keep a-talking the truth and youâll go to Heaven directly, like Elijah done.â âI am too, pumpkin head.â
Mal, still wary lest someone who might recognize them had been overlooked, breathed to Godey, âAre you seeing anybody we know?â
âNobody,â said Godey, âso stop sweating.â He had spotted the county agent watching the proceedings from a stump on the rise above Fester, collar buttoned, a tie at his throat, shirt pockets stuffed with pamphlets and pencils. Fester didnât count.
Fester Shattuck sat astride a beech trunk that had been felled and barked for the log-pulling contest. The skinned tree was an act of foresight on the part of the county agent, who had the grabs, the harness, and the swingle-tree in readiness as well. Fester had swapped out within forty-five minutes of his arrival, the nag he came on, a spavined horse, and a jenny passing through his hands in quick succession. Yet he was not completely flat. In ridding himself of the jenny, which he subsequently learned favored a leg in walking, a handicap difficult to observe on uneven footing, he had come by a hand-tooled copper-trimmed saddle that should sparkle the hardest eye. Confidence supported by nips of the sugar-top stored in his saddlebags, he probed about for chances to get back into the swapping game; he had not traveled out of his way, by Shade Muldraughâs on Dead Oak, for nothing. He had spied Godey and Mal before they did him. And Riarâs mule was no stranger.
âHoo-oo-ee, look at this.â
The owner of the chestnut mare was making a second run up the hollow, terms offered after the first sally having proved unacceptable. He varied his cry:
âRound and sound, tough as whang,
Two good eyes, and four in the spring.â
Carping finally put aside, the remainder of the complainers joined the trafficking. The hollow was too crowded for much free movement, particularly along the bed of the branch.
A person on foot had to look alive to avoid being bowled over, trampled, a tail switched in his face, or salted. Where the mounts stalled the earth was slick. Departures were frequent. A horseman would give up and declare, âToday I ought to of stayed home. My bones told me and I didnât heed.â But there was no lack of calls of âHoo-oo-ee,â and âY-u-u-p, follow me,â and âCheck her, noot. Shoot her up in through there and let me see her action.â Runs were often aborted. As a consequence of the new officer, Lafoon Magoffin, putting a quietus on the town, a rabble of young men and boys had climbed the slope behind the courthouse, skirted the bench of the ridge to the upper end of Chicken Roost, and descended to spectatorsâ positions above the throng.
Godey and Mal had dismounted, Godey leading the mule, Mal keeping to the rear for what cover the animal afforded, when they were spotted by the grease buyer. The buyer hailed, âIâm here, you short fellers. The high dollar is over here.â
Without turning his head, Godey answered, âHold your âtater, brother fox. Be it I need you, Iâll pull your chain.â
Breaking from the press, a trader split for the entrance muttering, âIf ever I visit this place again it will be when two Sundays come together. Plague take such a combobulation.â Two horsemen of like mind accompanied him.
A man on a jack drew rein in the boysâ path and gave Riarâs mule calculated inspection. He wore woolen army pants, a flannel shirt. His steed was fitted out in a platted cornshuck collar with buckeye hames. Folded coffee sacks served as both pad and saddle and surmounted ribs as prominent as barrel staves. He gazed and did not speak.
âHow does he look to you, friend,â Godey inquired, though outwardly the man appeared not to possess a copper.
The man reached into his shirt and scratched the small of his back. âHeâs a brother to Methusalemâ was his slow reply. âHeâs been here.â
Godeyâs chin cranked. âAre you some sort of sharp tack?â
The man blinked. âCould be,â he acknowledged, and then, âWicked, hainât heâyour plug. A wild ass. Mean as Lafoon Magoffin.â
âHeâs no plug,â Godey said levelly. His questioner might be another Tight Wad Thomas with pants full of money. âOf purebred stock, and so gentle you can sit in a chair and shoe him.â
âOh yeah?â came the scoff. âIâd bet different. A mule will play the gentleman for years just to get into a prime position to kick your brains out. Iâm knowance to the fact.â
âTell me,â snapped Godey, âare you wanting to trade, or are you talking to hear your head rattle?â
âRaised in the Devilâs barn,â the man continued. âI can read it in his eye.â
âA mule is a mule,â blurted Godey, and he urged, âLetâs talk turkey. Iâll sell him hide and ears for twenty dollars. And throw in the eyeballs.â
âTwenty is too rich for my blood.â
âAll right. What about a swap? Iâm asking ten to boot.â
The man furrowed his brows until they met. He clawed where the tail of his woolen shirt was eating him. âI canât stand the pressure,â said he.
His patience ending, Godey crackled, âThen keep him, keep him. Cheap-jacks belong together.â
âYouâve branded yourself with your tongue,â the man reprimanded, clucking his mount toward the entrance, and he grumbled, âEverybody is wearing boots today.â
Cupping his hands about his mouth, the grease buyer blatted, âYou youngsters, you with the gray, guide him over here.â
âYou heard me, snakebrains,â Godey reminded. âI said, âHold your âtater.â â
The owner of the chestnut executed a deal, swapping for a filly and receiving thirty dollars in the exchange, a halving of the earlier asking price for the claimed reason âItâs worth it to fly out of th...