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"Now look at dat!" cried Mrs. Morton dolefully. "Look at dat! Ain't dat de doggonest luck in de wide worl'! De gyahd he say dat Dago willin' pay fifty cents a day fo' me to teck an' bring a message eve'y mawn' tell de quahumteem took off de cellar. Now dat Dutch gal gone an' loss dat money fo' me movin' 'way whuh nobody cain't fine 'er!" "Sho!" laughed the widow.
Nelse, he slip de house whuh de lights ain' lit, an' stan' an' listen long time in de liberry at de foot er dem sta'hs; an' he hyuh dat man move, suh! Den Nelse know dat he done crope up to de cupoly room an' an' dat he settin' dah, waitin'! Soze he come an' tole me, an' I beg Miz Tanberry come in de kitchen, an' I shet de do' an' I tole her. An' she sended me hyuh to you, suh.
On both sides of the road the woods were encroaching and the only light was the feeble one cast by the single uncertain lamp of the car. It barely seemed to puncture the black. "Mist' Bushrod ain' been home?" came Zeke's voice. The idea was beginning to have effect. "Not since yesterday morning." For another interval, silence, and then: "Whuh Mist' Bushrod gone? Reckon he gone to Louisville?"
Dey ain' shot 'im hear-yondeh dey drugged 'im, but dis whuh he lie." He bent over again, then knelt, groaningly, and placed his hand on the stain, one would have said, as a man might place his hand over a heart to see if it still beat. He was motionless, with the air of hearkening. "Marse, honey, is you gone?" He raised his voice as if calling, "Is you gone, suh? Marse?"
When he spoke his voice was gentle, and though the tremulousness of age harped on the vocal strings, it was rigidly controlled. "Kin some kine gelmun," he asked, "please t'be so good ez t' show de ole main whuh de W'ite-Caips is done shoot Marse Hawkliss?" "Here was where it happened, Uncle Zen," answered Wiley, leaning him forward. "Here is the stain."
Yo' pa gone back dah to de F'enchmun, whuh he 'uz a young man. He mighty sick, an' he scairt, honey; an' he ain' goin' git ovah dat, neider. 'Peah to me, Missy, like he done had a vizhum er he own soul, when he come an' look down at dat young man layin' on de grass, las' night!"
"I know," said Zeke. "I doesn' go to Fillmo'. Dis is de place whuh I gets it. Up de paff a piece." Joe was on the point of telling him to go on on to Fillmore, where proper inquiry might be made, when a sense of curiosity prompted him to stop. He would see where the illegal traffic was being carried on. Zeke was trustingly letting him in on his business and he might not understand.
W'y, dey done move out dis mawn, right f'um dis ve'y house you stan'in in front de gate of. De ole man skeered er de smallpox, an' he mad, too, an' de neighbuhs ask him whuh he gwine, he won't tell; so mad he won't speak to nobody. None on 'em 'round hyuh knows an' dey's considabul cyu'us 'bout it, too. Dey gone off in bofe d'rections him one way, her 'nother. 'Peah lak dey be'n quollun!"
Xenophon bent over the spot on the sand, making little odd noises in his throat. Then he painfully resumed his former position. "Dass his blood," he said, in the same gentle, quavering tone. "Dass my bes' frien' whut lay on de groun' whuh yo staind, gelmun." There was a pause, and no one spoke. "Dass whuh day laid 'im an' dass whuh he lie," the old negro continued. "Dey shot 'im in de fiels.
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