Free Patrick Henry and the Frigate’s Keel: And Other Stories of a Young Nation by Howard Fast

chicken run, Pa organized the defense at the fort. After that it wasn’t any trouble for him to get the nomination for district judge, and every two years since then Pa was re-elected. In fact, the voting was just a formality; nobody had ever presumed to run against Pa.
    But now I could see that Pa was hard hit, and you can be sure that what hit him hardest was Matt’s description of a row of books about six feet long. Pa had a book; after he had been district judge four years, what with all sorts of fancy bits of law coming up, Pa decided that he didn’t have enough law inside of his own head to handle everything. So, whenever anybody took a trip back east, Pa would say, “Pick me up a lawbook somewheres, if you see one handy.” There probably weren’t many lawbooks handy, because it took nearly a year for one to come. But that was a fine book, all bound out in red leather with leafwork in real gold just covering it. People came in from all around to look at that lawbook for months on.
    The only thing Pa had against that lawbook was the name on it. On the cover it said, “English Common Law.” Pa didn’t hold against the “common law” part, since he considered common law good enough for himself and his neighbors; but the “English” part was a bone in his throat. The war of the colonies against England had been going on for five years then, and Pa didn’t consider it right to deal law out of an English book. But since there wasn’t any other lawbook within two hundred miles, Pa just scratched out the English part on the cover. The law inside suited folks fine.
    Pa stood there rubbing the mud off his hands, and Matt Stevens sat on his old gray mare, grinning.
    Finally, Pa said, “Now, maybe I ought to go in and make a calling visit with that new lawyer. He and I ought to get together on common law and such, if he’s planning to try cases in my court.”
    â€œI don’t reckon he plans to,” Matt said comfortably.
    â€œHow?”
    â€œI don’t reckon he plans to,” Matt repeated, “seeing as how the election comes up soon, and how certain citizens of the community have asked him to run for district judge. They figure it ain’t proper, calling an election without no contest. Also, they figure they might get a mite more law out of a Eastern lawman, with a degree all framed and hung.” He kicked at his mare, and called back, “Good luck, Neighbor Sam!”
    â€œGood luck,” Pa muttered.
    â€œI never did see no good come out of Matt Stevens,” Ma said.
    â€œRains one day, shines the next, kill a wolf on my own land, well goes dry, and now this.”
    â€œPa,” Jenny said, “Pa, don’t go to worrying. Folks hereabouts aren’t going to shuffle you out for any Eastern lawman.”
    â€œThat’s gospel,” Ma nodded.
    But Pa shook his head. His beard hung down against his chest, and he seemed old all of a sudden. He shuffled into the house.
    I followed him and left Ma talking with Jenny. When I got into the house Pa was standing there with his book of common law, turning the pages slowly.
    I sat down and waited for him to notice me. Finally, he said, “Hello, Jess.”
    â€œLord, I don’t know whether I hate Matt Stevens more than that new lawman,” I said.
    â€œDon’t take the Name in vain,” Pa said, “and shut about hating. It ain’t Christian, Jess. I ought to tan your hide.”
    â€œSome day I’ll get big enough to take a gun to Matt Stevens—”
    But Pa didn’t even hear me. He was staring at the lawbook.…
    Pa had almost finished digging the new well, when he decided he was going to stump for the election. Out here, on our side of the mountains, you didn’t find much argument for elections; if you reckoned a man was good for something, you voted him in, and there were hardly ever two men good for the same thing. But back