The Shepherd of the Hills Page #4

He ain't right.

Pete? Mollie and Old Matt's boy.

Young Matt's cousin.

Well, pretty near it.

Aunt Mollie, this is Mr. Howitt.

Strangers ain't wanted.

What brung you here?

He wants to buy some Mathews land.

He's my cousin.

He's got a hundred dollars.

Shucks.

For a hundred dollars, we can let you have that

finger of land down by the twisted sassafras.

No?

No!

If it's a question of more money,

Mrs. Mathews,

I'd be glad to give you a hundred dollars

cash and something each month.

We got them uplands on the sun side.

Ain't been brushed off yet.

But if you're lookin' for...

He ain't!

I'd like to buy Moanin' Meadow.

Shut up!

Not for no hundred dollars.

No.

It'd take more money

than you'd ever have.

It'd take a thousand dollars.

All right, I'll pay a thousand dollars,

if you'll allow me

to give you the hundred dollars now...

and $75 a month

until the thousand is paid.

You'll pay... a thousand dollars?

Yes.

Have you pen and paper?

You unbounded your word and spoke.

That's what ya done.

A hundred dollars and promised more.

You made a swap

with a bad tangle in it.

Smell.

Besides which, on account

of you disobeyin' me,

you bought an unhappy land.

Well, you see, Sammy...

Moanin' Meadow. Won't nobody come

to pay you company there...

nor warm by your fire with ya.

Well, it might be that unhappy land,

like unhappy people,

needs someone to care for it.

I beg the good omens I've had through the

week to counter the spell of the spirits...

who seek to dampen the wishes I've knotted in

yarn or darken the luck of pulley-bone's charm.

One and one is two, and three add to five.

Dead spirits stay dead and live ones alive.

Listen, Sammy...

See that buck brush, Mr. Howitt?

Well, up past it into them chinkapins,

then you travel up the steep hill,

down past the deer lick

into them low, big gaps.

That's Moanin' Meadow. Good-bye, Mr.

Howitt. Sammy, there's no sense to all this.

I'm tellin' you for

the last and final time,

them that goes in there has daylight

dreams and always disremembers.

And there's poison plants and poke berries

and nightshades dancin' with the bats.

Good-bye, Mr. Howitt.

That snag in your shoulder ailin'?

Not any.

It's just that from the time I was

shucked out of knee britches,

I ain't been so

crowded 'round with notions.

I brung ya a brand-new kiss for luck.

Restin' up from devilment?

Nope. Just committed some.

Brung you that lace neckpiece

for your throat.

These pants is got thorns in 'em.

Like you was sayin', Jim,

a blue-eyed filly is

the most worrisome kind to gentle.

- What?

- No mind what you do,

you never get a

friendly whicker out of'em.

Well, the last I recollect, we was

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