Hapsburg Liebe

“ Fiddlin' Jim continued with unusual garrulousness. "The chaplain—it was him, I reckon, that reelly got the gov'nor to pardon me—the chaplain, he said I'd l'arned to look up, fo' one thing."
"Look up?" wondered the lad, drawing the coat closer about his bare legs. "How do ye mean, look up?"
"Why, to see where the acorns comes from," laughed Fiddlin' Jim, "acorns, the manna o' the hawg! A hawg never looks up, son; it hunts fo' acorns under a sycamore tree or a poplar tree the same as it does under a oak. A hawg don't look up to see the sun shine, neither. ”

“ They're still a-chasin' me, Fiddlin', and I shore don't know what I'm a-goin' to do!"
"And—and Dana?" Jim Braden muttered.
"Dana!" cried Bad Lot Hupple. "It's a worryin' her to death!"
Fiddlin' Jim rubbed his chin thoughtfully, bent his head, folded his arms and began to pace the floor. "It's a-worryin' her to death!" still rang in his ears. It must be true, he reasoned. A woman like Dana wouldn't live with a man for so long if she didn't love him. ”

“ I got sorry fo' her, a-seein' her work so hard to make a livin'—you know Dana well enough to know she wouldn't never be nobody's cook, nor sponge offen nobody. I allus loved her, which same ye also know. You a bein' took to the pen gi' her a divo'ce, natchelly. I begged her to marry me and le' me do the work fo' us, and she fin'lly done it. It was most—mostly 'cause I was yore friend, Fiddlin', that she married me.
"Well, you know how it is when a man's repitation is bad. It's awful easy to hang any sort o' crime on his head, and a man has to pull a crooked deal sometimes to git his due. ”

“ Ain't a man got to have his due for a bein' blamed wi' everything?"
"We'll not argify the p'int," said Fiddlin' Jim. "Listen here, Bad. Are ye plum' shore it's a-worryin' Dana thataway? Are ye shore she loves ye, Bad? We've allus been friends, Bad, and ye cain't tell me nothin' but the truth; rickollect that."
Hupple looked the fiddler squarely in the eye. It was one of his own particular long suits, looking people squarely in the eye.
"You know Dana," said he. "Do ye think she'd live wi' me fo' ten years ef she didn't love me? Answer me that, Fiddlin'?" ”

“ The' ain't nobody that can whip him, everybody says. He whipped a whole loggin' outfit oncet—sup'rintendent and all. My name is 'Little Jim' Braden."
"Little Jim Braden!" exploded big Jim Braden. "What—how—how come it Lot named ye that, son?"
"Dunno 'zackly. But I think he used to have a friend named Jim Braden, mebbe. What's yore name, mister?"
"Me?"
Fiddlin' Jim was again staring at a picture in the glowing coals. He saw the slender, barefooted young woman in calico; he saw himself; he saw Lot Hupple, his friend; and he saw Dana, the young woman, turn from Hupple and go with him. ”

“ The man saw in the lad a good deal of himself. The small new-comer had a determined mouth and chin, and his eyes, too, were those of one who knew both the building and the destroying of castles in the air. ”

“ He found the cattle-buyer's wallet in Fiddlin' Jim's pocket and tossed it to the sheriff's feet. Fiddlin' Jim looked to his right and to his left. Bad Lot was not in the cabin. Then Braden's gaze fell upon the one window, and he knew. Hupple had escaped.
"He ain't got any gun," said the deputy, "and it ain't Lot Hupple!" ”

“ I hope ye don't mind it about me a comin' in, mister."
"Sartinly not," declared Fiddlin' Jim. "It ain't my cabin, nohow. It ain't nobody's in pa'tickler, I reckon. I jest stopped in here a hour or so ago. I'm plum' glad to see ye, son. I was mighty lonesome! Most o' folks 'pears to be afeard o' me 'cause I've been to the penitenchy. I never killed nobody, son, honest I never. I got ketched in a sort o' net, son. ”