John Wells*

They called him "the hunter"; his name was John Wells.
The long, black, straight hair was bast-tied.*
His hunting shirts, leggings and shoes were all
fashioned of brains-watered, smoky tanned hide.*

One day while the family was working inside,
a strange voice called, "Hello the house!"
They welcomed their guest, for to do any less,
the wilderness code disallowed.

The men talked of redskins and cowbells and fences,
and government land that was free.
"I see you're a hunter; you'd find work in Texas,
though you'd have to watch for Pawnee."

A day or two later, John came in to eat.
"I'm going to Texas," said he.
"A long time I've wanted to see for myself
what others 'been sayin' they see."
* * * *
The winter was lonesome, eternity-long,
then dogwood and overcup bloomed.
Corn planting and harvesting time came and went.
Had John Wells got caught in a flume?*

Meanwhile, Mister Mawler, the stranger, became
a neighbor along Fourche La Fave.*
"I reckon John's coming back's possible still,"
he told Betsy, John's wife, who'd been brave.

Year after year went by, four and a half.
Resigned that John surely was dead,
the woman--with blessings of her teenaged sons--
and Mawler decided to wed.

Bill Mawler commenced fixing up his new farm.
One fall day, a stranger stopped by.
"Whose farm is this?" "Mine." Is your ol' lady dead?"
She's helpin' the neighbors nearby."

"I'm John Wells from Texas." Bill's carving knife fell
to the floor as the door opened wide,
as wide as the eyes of the woman who spied
her long-dead-and-gone husband alive!
****
Old habits kicked in as though John never left,
but settlement fences were jammed.
When neighbors suggested they move Texas-way,
John answered them, "Texas be damned!"
#####
*from a story by Friedrich Gerstacker, In the Arkansas Backwoods: James Miller, translator, editor

bast -long strips of hickory bark used for cords and ropes
brains-watered - tanners used deer brains mixed with water as an early step in tanning. Smoking the skin at the end of the process guaranteed softness no matter how many soakings they got
flume - a deep, narrow valley containing a stream or torrent
Fourche La Fave - now simplified to Clear Fork creek, a stream flowing into the Arkansas River around Perryville AR

~~~~~by Pat Laster