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She say dar ain’t no hell, an’ ef you an’ de Archbishop an’ de Angel Gabriel come along an’ ’low dey a hell, you all liars,’ an’ he say, ‘Make way dah, I’se a gittin’ out o’ heah; dis ain’t no town fittin’ to hol’ a Sanchun. Make way ef you don’ wants to go to Kingdom come fo’ yo’ time.’ “Well, I ’lows dey did make way. Only Père Antoine, he look mighty sorry an’ down cas’.
"Ye owe us a deal more'n ye ken pay easy, but I'm fixin' the reckonin' my way. We're goin', an' the boodle goes wi' us. Savvee?" Davia watched her brother acutely. Nor could she help noticing that the great man was listening while he spoke. "I 'lows you'll git free o' this rope. I mean ye to after awhiles. Ye'll keep y'r monkey tricks till after we're clear o' here.
"I say ye do!" said Captain Pharo, waxing more and more wroth; "ye sets some feller t' work there, 't never see salt water, t' make our laws for us; 'lows us to ketch all the spawn lobsters and puts injunctions onter the little ones: like takin' people when they gits to be sixteen or twenty year old, 'n' choppin' their heads off yer race is goin' to multiply almighty fast, ain't it?"
He 'lows he hev been tryin' ter git shet o' the railroads an' dirt roads an' human folks, an' he s'posed he hed run ter the jumpin'-off place, the e-ends o' the yearth; but hyar kems the road o' civilization a-pursuin' him like the sarpient o' the Pit, with the knowledge o' good an' evil, a grain o' wheat an' a bushel o' chaff, an' he reckons he'll hev ter cut an' run again."
Punctiliously, Parish Thornton obeyed that injunction, sitting quietly in his saddle with a meditative gaze fixed on the twitching of his mule's ears, until after so long a time a stir in the thicket announced the return of the messenger and a command came succinctly from an invisible speaker. "Hitch yore critter an' light down. Hump 'lows he'll see ye."
"It air a fiddle," she said, slowly, at last, and with an air of conscientious admission, as if she had had half a mind to deny it. "A fiddle the thing air." Then, as she collected her thoughts, "Brother Pete Vickers 'lows ez he sees no special sin in playin' the fiddle. He 'lows ez in some kentries I disremember whar they plays on 'em in church, quirin' an' hymn chunes an' sech."
Then ye'll do best to go dead easy. Fer that crank's comin' right along, an', I 'lows, if I was you I'd as lief lie here and rot, an' feed the gophers wi' my carcass as run up agin him. I tell ye, pard, ther's a cuss hangin' around wher' Nick Westley goes, an' I don't reckon it's like to work itself out easy by a big sight." Jean finished up with profound emphasis.
"They builds this boat, the one that disappeared, and in order that Foxy shouldn't play no tricks, that bein' his disposition, Sanchez 'lows he'll take both the sample and the map. Foxy sees no way out of it but to give in and that's the way it's fixed. "The boat is taken out of Yuma in sections and then put together in a place whar nobody ain't likely to come nosin' around.
It's jest that other what set me yarnin'. Say, guess you're mostly a pretty decent feller, Tresler, though I 'lows you has failin's. You're kind o' young. Now I guess you ain't never pumped lead into the other feller, which the same he's doin' satisfact'ry by you? You kind o' like most fellers?" Tresler nodded. "Jest so. But I've noticed you don't fancy folks as gits gay wi' you.
He produced his note-book and rapidly glanced over the greasy pages. "Y'see," he observed, pausing at the entry he had been looking for, "Sally paid us a hundred an' forty-seven dollars an' seventy-five cents. I 'lows that's handsome fer buryin' a hop-headed skite like Charlie Morby was.
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