He only done what any man would a done.”
“Then what’ll we do?” Uncle John asked.
“We go in like the law says an’ they’ll come out for him.
We on’y got a hundred an’ fifty dollars.
They take forty to bury Grampa an’ we won’t get to California—or else they’ll bury him a pauper.”
The men stirred restively, and they studied the darkening ground in front of their knees.
Pa said softly,
“Grampa buried his pa with his own hand, done it in dignity, an’ shaped the grave nice with his own shovel.
That was a time when a man had the right to be buried by his own son an’ a son had the right to bury his own father.”
“The law says different now,” said Uncle John.
“Sometimes the law can’t be foller’d no way,” said Pa. “Not in decency, anyways.
They’s lots a times you can’t.
When Floyd was loose an’ goin’ wild, law said we got to give him up—an’ nobody give him up.
Sometimes a fella got to sift the law.
I’m sayin’ now I got the right to bury my own pa.
Anybody got somepin to say?”
The preacher rose high on his elbow.
“Law changes,” he said, “but ‘got to’s’ go on.
You got the right to do what you got to do.”
Pa turned to Uncle John.
“It’s your right too, John.
You got any word against?”
“No word against,” said Uncle John. “On’y it’s like hidin’ him in the night.
Grampa’s way was t’come out a-shootin’.”
Pa said ashamedly,
“We can’t do like Grampa done.
We got to get to California ’fore our money gives out.”
Tom broke in,
“Sometimes fellas workin’ dig up a man an’ then they raise hell an’ figger he been killed.
The gov’ment’s got more interest in a dead man than a live one.
They’ll go hell-scrapin’ tryin’ to fin’ out who he was and how he died.
I offer we put a note of writin’ in a bottle an’ lay it with Grampa, tellin’ who he is an’ how he died, an’ why he’s buried here.”
Pa nodded agreement.
“Tha’s good.
Wrote out in a nice han’ Be not so lonesome too, knowin’ his name is there with ’im, not jus’ a old fella lonesome underground.
Any more stuff to say?” The circle was silent.
Pa turned his head to Ma.
“You’ll lay ’im out?”
“I’ll lay ’im out,” said Ma. “But who’s to get supper?”
Sairy Wilson said,
“I’ll get supper.
You go right ahead.
Me an’ that big girl of yourn.”
“We sure thank you,” said Ma. “Noah, you get into them kegs an’ bring out some nice pork.
Salt won’t be deep in it yet, but it’ll be right nice eatin’.”
“We got a half sack a potatoes,” said Sairy.
Ma said,
“Gimme two half-dollars.”
Pa dug in his pocket and gave her the silver.
She found the basin, filled it full of water, and went into the tent.