Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands Page #9

"Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands" is a humorous and insightful short story by Bret Harte, set in the American West during the late 19th century. The narrative follows Mrs. Skaggs, a resilient and resourceful woman who has had multiple husbands, each with their own unique quirks and characteristics. The story explores themes of gender roles, love, and the complexity of relationships, all while offering a satirical look at frontier life. Harte's deft storytelling and vibrant characters make this tale a delightful reflection on the challenges and triumphs of marriage in a rugged landscape.

• Short story

								

But you allus liked him better nor me," said Bill, bitterly.

"Forgive me, Bill," said the young man, seizing both his hands. "I know
you did it for the best; but go on."

"Thar ain't much more to tell, nor much use to tell it, as I can see,"
said Bill, moodily. "He never could be cured, the doctors said, for he
had what they called monomania,--was always talking about his wife and
darter that somebody had stole away years ago, and plannin' revenge
on that somebody. And six months ago he was missed. I tracked him to
Carson, to Salt Lake City, to Omaha, to Chicago, to New York,--and
here!"

"Here!" echoed Islington.

"Here! And that's what brings me here to-day. Whethers he's crazy or
well, whethers he's huntin' you or lookin' up that other man, you must
get away from here. You mustn't see him. You and me, Tommy, will go away
on a cruise. In three or four years he'll be dead or missing, and then
we'll come back. Come." And he rose to his feet.

"Bill," said Islington, rising also, and taking the hand of his friend,
with the same quiet obstinacy that in the old days had endeared him to
Bill, "wherever he is, here or elsewhere, sane or crazy, I shall seek
and find him. Every dollar that I have shall be his, every dollar that I
have spent shall be returned to him. I am young yet, thank God, and can
work; and if there is a way out of this miserable business, I shall find
it."

"I knew," said Bill, with a surliness that ill concealed his evident
admiration of the calm figure before him--"I knew the partikler style
of d--n fool that you was, and expected no better. Good by, then--God
Almighty! who's that?"

He was on his way to the open French window, but had started back, his
face quite white and bloodless, and his eyes staring. Islington ran to
the window, and looked out. A white skirt vanished around the corner of
the veranda. When he returned, Bill had dropped into a chair.

"It must have been Miss Masterman, I think; but what's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Bill, faintly; "have you got any whiskey handy?"

Islington brought a decanter, and, pouring out some spirits, handed the
glass to Bill. Bill drained it, and then said, "Who is Miss Masterman?"

"Mr. Masterman's daughter; that is, an adopted daughter, I believe."

"Wot name?"

"I really don't know," said Islington, pettishly, more vexed than he
cared to own at this questioning.

Yuba Bill rose and walked to the window, closed it, walked back again
to the door, glanced at Islington, hesitated, and then returned to his
chair.

"I didn't tell you I was married--did I?" he said suddenly, looking up
in Islington's face with an unsuccessful attempt at a reckless laugh.

"No," said Islington, more pained at the manner than the words.

"Fact," said Yuba Bill. "Three years ago it was, Tommy,--three years
ago!"

He looked so hard at Islington, that, feeling he was expected to say
something, he asked vaguely, "Who did you marry?"

"Thet's it!" said Yuba Bill; "I can't ezactly say; partikly, though, a
she devil! generally, the wife of half a dozen other men."

Accustomed, apparently, to have his conjugal infelicities a theme of
mirth among men, and seeing no trace of amusement on Islington's grave
face, his dogged, reckless manner softened, and, drawing his chair
closer to Islington, he went on: "It all began outer this: we was coming
down Watson's grade one night pretty free, when the expressman turns to
me and sez, 'There's a row inside, and you'd better pull up!' I pulls
up, and out hops, first a woman, and then two or three chaps swearing
and cursin', and tryin' to drag some one arter them. Then it 'pear'd,
Tommy, thet it was this woman's drunken husband they was going to put
out for abusin' her, and strikin' her in the coach; and if it hadn't
been for me, my boy, they'd hev left that chap thar in the road. But I
fixes matters up by putting her alongside o' me on the box, and we drove
on. She was very white, Tommy,--for the matter o' that, she was always
one o' these very white women, that never got red in the face,--but she
never cried a whimper. Most wimin would have cried. It was queer, but
she never cried. I thought so at the time.

"She was very tall, with a lot o' light hair meandering down the back of
her head, as long as a deer-skin whip-lash, and about the color. She hed
eyes thet'd bore you through at fifty yards, and pooty hands and feet.
And when she kinder got out o' that stiff, narvous state she was in, and
warmed up a little, and got chipper, by G-d, sir, she was handsome,--she
was that!"

A little flushed and embarrassed at his own enthusiasm, he stopped, and
then said, carelessly, "They got off at Murphy's."

"Well," said Islington.

"Well, I used to see her often arter thet, and when she was alone she
allus took the box-seat. She kinder confided her troubles to me, how her
husband got drunk and abused her; and I didn't see much o' him, for
he was away in 'Frisco arter thet. But it was all square, Tommy,--all
square 'twixt me and her.

"I got a going there a good deal, and then one day I sez to myself,
'Bill, this won't do,' and I got changed to another route. Did you ever
know Jackson Filltree, Tommy?" said Bill, breaking off suddenly.

"No."

"Might have heerd of him, p'r'aps?"

"No," said Islington, impatiently.

"Jackson Filltree ran the express from White's out to Summit, 'cross the
North Fork of the Yuba. One day he sez to me, 'Bill, that's a mighty bad
ford at the North Fork.' I sez, 'I believe you, Jackson.' 'It'll git
me some day, Bill, sure,' sez he. I sez, 'Why don't you take the lower
ford?' 'I don't know,' sez he, 'but I can't.' So ever after, when I
met him, he sez, 'That North Fork ain't got me yet.' One day I was in
Sacramento, and up comes Filltree. He sez, 'I've sold out the express
business on account of the North Fork, but it's bound to get me yet,
Bill, sure'; and he laughs. Two weeks after they finds his body below
the ford, whar he tried to cross, comin' down from the Summit way. Folks
said it was foolishness: Tommy, I sez it was Fate! The second day arter
I was changed to the Placerville route, thet woman comes outer the
hotel above the stage-office. Her husband, she said, was lying sick in
Placerville; that's what she said; but it was Fate, Tommy, Fate. Three
months afterward, her husband takes an overdose of morphine for delirium
tremems, and dies. There's folks ez sez she gave it to him, but it's
Fate. A year after that I married her,--Fate, Tommy, Fate!

"I lived with her jest three months," he went on, after a long
breath,--"three months! It ain't much time for a happy man. I've seen
a good deal o' hard life in my day, but there was days in that three
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