Speaker 1: Hate by David M. Newell. Old Man Cow rode staggered
Speaker 1: under a smashing blow in the mouth, shaking his grizzled
Speaker 1: head in a vain attempt to clear his sight so
Speaker 1: that he might yet pound the bloody face that loomed
Speaker 1: before him. But he was done for That last crushing
Speaker 1: blow had broken him, and he sank slowly to his
Speaker 1: hands and knees in the soft, damp soil. Little old
Speaker 1: man Knight swayed on his feet, gazing vacantly down on
Speaker 1: his larger foe. It had been a bitter, bitter fight,
Speaker 1: the result of an old quarrel between these backwoods neighbors,
Speaker 1: and contrary to local custom, they had fought it out clean.
Speaker 1: Old Man Tom had said quietly, no guns or knives Cow,
Speaker 1: and Cow had agreed. Missus Tom had washed Old Tom
Speaker 1: go down to the field with many misgivings, calling after him.
Speaker 1: He ain't to be trusted, Tom, that cracker eight and
Speaker 1: sides he's bigger than you. Better take your pistol. God
Speaker 1: made guns and knives to make all men the same size.
Speaker 1: And if y'all can't fight like gentlemen, but has to
Speaker 1: use your fists, why don't come home less you whip him.
Speaker 1: Old Tom had just shaken his head, and now as
Speaker 1: he looked down on his enemy, he spoke again, quietly
Speaker 1: through his bettered, bleeding lips. I whipped you, fair, Cal,
Speaker 1: and you know I did, But you fought. Well, let's
Speaker 1: call it quits. Old man cow raised his head with
Speaker 1: a great effort. For a moment, his lips moved with
Speaker 1: no sound, and his swollen eyes burned with savage hate.
Speaker 1: Then all right, Tom, you whip me fair. Let the
Speaker 1: haire go with the hide. They shook hands, and Old
Speaker 1: Tom picked up his coat and walked slowly off toward
Speaker 1: his cabin under the big live oaks. For a long
Speaker 1: time thereafter, Calrode sat staring off to the west, across
Speaker 1: the harefield and charred pine stumps. The preacher leaned across
Speaker 1: his pulpit in his earnestness that bright Sunday morning, The
Speaker 1: heart is deceitful and wicked above all things who can
Speaker 1: know it. That's my text, friends, and y'all know it's true.
Speaker 1: I don't know what's in your heart, and you don't
Speaker 1: know what's in mine. God knows and sees. May he
Speaker 1: find no malice in any of our hearts. This morning,
Speaker 1: if y'all turn to, and Calvin roodes with unhearing ears,
Speaker 1: gazed beneath shaggy brows at Old Tom and the pew across,
Speaker 1: devising away, devising away. Two years pasted, old man cow
Speaker 1: paused in his plowing and again stared out across the
Speaker 1: little field. Again he saw himself beaten equipped by a
Speaker 1: smaller man in a fair fight, and he spoke aloud,
Speaker 1: I'll have revenge on you, Tom Knight, ye if, And
Speaker 1: that's the last thing I ever do. I hate the
Speaker 1: sight of you. I hate your name. From far away
Speaker 1: towards the Cypress Swamp came the distant cry of a hound.
Speaker 1: Cal road stopped. The hound's baying was growing steadily nearer,
Speaker 1: and the old man forgot his grudge. By Jingo, that's
Speaker 1: zeb Allison's sproudy, and he's a bringing a deer out
Speaker 1: across the ridge as sure as I'm a foot eye.
Speaker 1: There was no time to go to his own house
Speaker 1: for a gun, and he bethought himself of the night cabin.
Speaker 1: I'll get Tom's the old well. Let him think I'm
Speaker 1: peaceable like till I get my chance. He arrived at
Speaker 1: the neighbors out of breath. Missus Tom met him at
Speaker 1: the door. Why howdy col come in? She beamed, Sure,
Speaker 1: glad you've decided to let bygones be bygones. Tom's down
Speaker 1: at the millhouse. A grinding cane can't come in, Thank you, ma'am,
Speaker 1: panted Old man Cow just wanted to borrow Tom's gun.
Speaker 1: There's a dogg coming with a deer, and I thought
Speaker 1: maybe as how I could cut him off shore, agreed
Speaker 1: missus Tom. There it is a sitting behind the door.
Speaker 1: Hope you get the deer, and ifing you do, bring
Speaker 1: us a quarter, as we're plumb out of meat. Old
Speaker 1: man Cow noticed the gun was loaded as he ran.
Speaker 1: When he reached the hog pasture gate, rowdy and the
Speaker 1: deer had passed, and he sat down on a log
Speaker 1: to get his breath. Might a note I couldn't kill
Speaker 1: nothing with his gun anyway? The old skunk exploded, his
Speaker 1: failure to get a shot, fanning his hatred. A sudden
Speaker 1: idea seized him. He rested a few minutes and then
Speaker 1: returned to the field, where he unhitched his mule and
Speaker 1: started up the lane to his own cabin. Arriving there,
Speaker 1: he went to a cupboard and took down his old
Speaker 1: powder horn and pouch of shot. Craftily, he peered from
Speaker 1: the window to make sure no one watched. An hour
Speaker 1: or two later, the gun stood in its place behind
Speaker 1: the door, and Col Rose shifted uneasily on his feet
Speaker 1: as he said, no, ma'am, I didn't get there in time,
Speaker 1: thank y'all. Anyway, spring came. Old Man Tom plowed his
Speaker 1: corn and played in the evenings to Little Tom on
Speaker 1: his banjo, and Calvin, hearing Little Tom's whoops of pleasure
Speaker 1: at the old darky song, would shake his fist in
Speaker 1: the direction of the sound and go inside, wherein I
Speaker 1: don't have to listen to the old skunk's voice. A
Speaker 1: lank cracker boy on an ancient moth eaten mule pulled
Speaker 1: up in front of Cal's cabin. Hear the news, he
Speaker 1: shouted to Old man Cow, who was coming up the
Speaker 1: lane from feeding his hogs. Tom Knight dropped dead this evening,
Speaker 1: just all of a sudden heart failure. I reckon, what,
Speaker 1: screamed Old col It can't be, it mustn't be. I
Speaker 1: don't believe it. Hi, the cracker boy addressed the group
Speaker 1: in front of the post office. I never see the
Speaker 1: like of the way old man Roads carried on. When
Speaker 1: I told him why, he must have actually got to
Speaker 1: love mister Knight. He sure did take on. They buried
Speaker 1: Old Tom Knight from the little backwoods church. Calvin Rose,
Speaker 1: by request of the Night family, served as a pallbearer.
Speaker 1: With his last look at Old Tom's weather beaten face,
Speaker 1: now so still and white, he cursed silently at the
Speaker 1: fate that had robbed him of his revenge, and went
Speaker 1: home to brood alone. Death had cheated him. There was
Speaker 1: nothing he could do. A year passed. Little Tom shouldered
Speaker 1: the farming valiantly, and Widow Knight, as befitted her heroic breed,
Speaker 1: took up the lighter chores. Old Cow tilled his little field.
Speaker 1: It could be seen that he had aged from his
Speaker 1: stooping shoulders and the way he would absently stop in
Speaker 1: his plowing to stare vacantly into thin air. Came another fall.
Speaker 1: From far across the ridge floated the faint, quivering cry
Speaker 1: of an old hound. Calvin Rhodes heard and shouted to
Speaker 1: Little Tom in the next field, get your gun, son,
Speaker 1: and come a runnin The old pity dog.
Speaker 2: A Zeke's is a comin' with a deer. Little Tom
Speaker 2: came a running, eyes bright with excitement. Hurry up, mister Rhodes.
Speaker 2: Heel crossed by the hog pasture gate, he puffed, handing
Speaker 2: the old muzzleloader to cow. Old cow hurried as best
Speaker 2: he could, and together they crouched in a pine thicket.
Speaker 2: It might have been the same buck that broke again
Speaker 2: into the clearing. Old cow fired. The preacher drew a
Speaker 2: large handkerchief from his shabby coat. Friends, he said, we're
Speaker 2: here to day to pay respect to our beloved brother,
Speaker 2: Calvin weather be Roads. He was a good and kind man,
Speaker 2: with malice toward none. His death is a great loss
Speaker 2: to our little community. He was a noble forgiving spirit.
Speaker 2: May we all learn from him the spirit of forgiveness.
Speaker 2: And little Tom, in his father's seat, sniffled softly and whispered,
Speaker 2: poor mister Rhodes. I sure wonder what made the gun
Speaker 2: sound so uncommon loud and burst that away. The End
Speaker 2: of Hate by David M.
Speaker 1: Newell