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Sosthène was just beyond the limit of age, and 'Thanase two years below it; but 'Thanase's father kept a horse saddled all the time, and slept indoors only on stormy nights. Do not be misled: he was neither deserter nor coward; else the nickname which had quite blotted out his real name would not have been Chaouache savage, Indian. He was needed at home, and it was not his war.
That he was the owner of thousands of cattle, one need not mention, for so were others who were quite inconspicuous, living in unpainted houses, rarely seeing milk, never tasting butter; men who at call of their baptismal names would come forth from these houses barefooted and bareheaded in any weather, and, while their numerous progeny grouped themselves in the doorway one behind another in inverse order of age and stature, would either point out your lost way, or, quite as readily as Sosthène, ask you in beneath a roof where the coffee-pot never went dry or grew cold by day.
It was fine from first to last! The ball closed with the bride's dance. Many a daughter Madame Sosthène had waltzed that farewell measure with, and now Zoséphine was the last.
Yonder was Sosthène hoeing leisurely in the little garden, and possibly the sunbonnet of la vieille half seen and half hidden among her lima-beans; but for the rest there was only the house, silent at best, or, worse, sending out through its half-open door the long, scornful No-o-o! of the maiden's unseen spinning-wheel. No matter the fame or grace of the rider.
Pop! pop! dodge, and fire as you dodge! Pop! pop! pop! down he goes; well done, gray-bearded Sosthène! Shoot there! Wheel here! Wounded? Never mind ora! Another rogue reels! Collar him, Chaouache! drag him from the saddle down he goes! What, again? Shoot there! Look out, that fellow's getting away! Ah! down goes Sosthène's horse, breaking his strong neck in the tumble.
The lad had turned toward them, and was sitting upright, his blue eyes widened, his face pale, and his lips apart; but ere Sosthène could speak his wife claimed his attention. "Sosthène!" she exclaimed, pressing against the window-pane, "ah, Sosthène! Ah, ah! they have got 'Thanase!"
They had gone for a conscript; they came away with a volunteer. Bonaventure sat by the fire in Sosthène's cottage, silent and heavy, holding his small knees in his knit hands and gazing into the flames. Zoséphine was washing the household's few breakfast dishes. La vieille the mother was spinning cotton. Le vieux Sosthène sat sewing up a rent in a rawhide chair-bottom.
The wife asked what they were, but Sosthène made no reply; he was counting them: twelve, thirteen, fourteen fourteen with short guns, another one who seemed to wear a sword, and three, that must be "Cawnscreep," growled Sosthène, without turning his eyes. But the next moment an unusual sound at his elbow drew his glance upon Zoséphine. "Diable!"
He nodded his head in hearty approval as the tale was finished. It was the story of Sosthène, Chaouache, 'Thanase, and the jayhawkers. He gathered up his sabre and walked out, followed by the rest. A rattle of saddles, a splashing of hoofs, and then no sound was heard but the wind and the pouring rain. The short column went out of the village at full gallop.
Hundreds will laugh at you for it: never mind; it will bring you through. Yes, I will tell Sosthène and the others good-by for you. I will tell them you had a dream that compelled you to go at once. Adieu." And just as the rising sun's first beam smote the curé's brimming eyes, his "little old man" turned his face toward a new life, and set forward to enter it.
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