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You reckon 'em crooked judges kin see us when we risin' up?" "We'll have to fix it so's they can't overlook us, Mose." "Ought to git 'em some eyeglasses then," was the sulky response. "Seven and one that's eight, Mose. We've got Solomon's word for it." Jockey Moseby Jones shook his head doubtfully. "Mebbe so, boss, mebbe so, but thisyere Sol'mun's been dead a lo-o-ng time now.
I remember "old Mose," one of the liberated West Hills slaves, well. He was very genial, correct, manly, and cute, and a great friend of my childhood. CANADA NIGHTS Late in August Three wondrous nights. Effects of moon, clouds, stars, and night-sheen, never surpass'd. I am out every night, enjoying all. The sunset begins it.
It was Mose crashing headlong into the old messbox where he kept rattly basins, empty lard pails, and such, that roused Ford. He got up and went into the kitchen, and when he saw what was, the matter, extricated Mose by the simple method of grabbing his shoulders and pulling hard; then he set the cook upon his feet, and got full in his face the unmistakable fumes of whisky. "What?
The old man followed the direction of the young man's eyes and mumbled: "Old man's girl.... Her child." Mose asked no questions, but it gave a new and powerful interest to the graceful figure of the girl. Occasionally the old man lifted his eyes toward the ridge, as if looking for some one, and at last said, "Old man comin'."
After putting some grain before the horse, Mose rolled himself in his blanket and went to sleep with only a passing thought of the princess, her luxurious home, and her radiant and inscrutable personality. It was good to hear again the bawling of the bulls and the shouts of the cowboys, and to see the swirling herd and the flying, guarding, checking horsemen.
Carried away by these kind words, Herman forgot his instructions: forgot everything but the thrill of the race. He drove his heels into Zanzibar's sides and crouched low in the saddle. The cold dawn wind cut like a knife. After a time there came a wail from the rear. "Nothin' to it, jock! You too good! Too good! Wait faw me." Herman drew rein, and soon Mose was alongside again.
"The farmer from whom those chickens were stolen may stray down here in search of the thief, and it is not impossible that Mose Hocker is somewhere about here. This man certainly stole that gun from Hocker's cabin, and if he took the boat at the same time which I believe he did Hocker will surely try to recover his property, and will naturally look for it along the creek."
Come, Uncle Mose, your eyes are keen for a look as they were when you hunted Hessians in the Jarsies. But Troffater may step out, we can very well spare him." Three or four gave over, and went home.
As "Harry Excell, alias Black Mose," he had figured in the great newspapers of Chicago, and Denver, and Omaha. Imaginative and secretly admiring young reporters had heaped alliterative words together to characterize his daring, his skill as a marksman and horseman, and had also darkly hinted of his part in desperate stage and railway robbery in the Farther West.
"In that case I suppose it's fair to assume that Mose took part in the struggle. Whether he was the only man or whether there was still a third, the cave itself ought to tell a pretty clear story." Terry rose and paced up and down the room once or twice, and then came back and picked up one of the newspaper clippings. "It says here that the boot marks of two different men are visible."
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