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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Now, atter Solomon's gal had be'n sont away, he kep' feelin' mo' en mo' bad erbout it, 'tel fin'lly he 'lowed he wuz gwine ter see ef dey could n' be sump'n done fer ter git 'er back, en ter make Mars Jeems treat de darkies bettah. So he tuk a peck er co'n out'n de ba'n one night, en went ober ter see ole Aun' Peggy, de free-nigger cunjuh 'oman down by de Wim'l'ton Road.
They cain't nothin' be done to him for nair a one of 'em you know, same's I do 'ca'se hit cain't be proved in a co't o' law. But I kin ketch him in this meanness with this hyer little jigger, and I'm a-gwine to do hit, jest ez sure ez my name's John Overholt!" "Oh, Pappy! A leetle bit o' co'n fer a man's chillen " "Now, Cornely honey, that's a womern!
They can't raise co'n in this high country, and not much of anything but grass. They won't bother us no mo'. It's a good cattle country, but a mighty tough range to ride, as you'll find. I thought I knew what rough riding was, but when it comes to racin' over these granite knobs, I'm jest a little too old. I'm getting heavy, too, you notice." "Grub-pile!
"Them gover'men' fellers cain' make nothin'," went on Pink. "Firs' place they's co'n at fifty cen's a bushel. One bushel o' co'n makes about two gallons o' whisky; they's an ex-pense o' nigh twenty-five cen's a gallon to begin with. Then the gauger comes 'roun', 'n ye have to pay a tax on all he's smart enough to fin', a dollar 'n ten cen's a gallon.
Wen de niggers see how fine Mars Jeems gwine treat 'em, dey all tuk ter sweethea'tin' en juneseyin' en singin' en dancin', en eight er ten couples got married, en bimeby eve'ybody 'mence' ter say Mars Jeems McLean got a finer plantation, en slicker-lookin' niggers, en dat he 'uz makin' mo' cotton en co'n, dan any yuther gent'eman in de county.
So she led him away ever so little away from his ever-present grief. It was the next day that he said to her, "Cornely, I p'intedly ain't gwine to suffer this hyer filchin' o' co'n them Fusons is a-keepin' up on me." "Is the Fusons a-stealin' yo' co'n, John?" she responded, in surprise. "W'y, they got a-plenty, ain't they?" "Well, no, not adzactly, that is to say, Buck Fuson ain't got a-plenty.
"Yas'm, an' I wallered dar like er hot hog in wet leaves, tickled mighty nigh ter death; an' den I run off caze da mout want me ter go ez er witness an' mo'n dat, da might want ter sen' me ter de pennytenchy caze I grind de co'n." The last word alarmed her. "Do you think they will send him there? Do you?" "Oh, no'm, I doan think dat.
She could play a fiddle good as a man. 'My father he cried, my mother she cried, I wasn' cut out fer de army. O, Capt'in Gink, my hoss me think, But feed his hoss on co'n an' beans An s'port de gals by any means! 'Cause I'm a Capt'in in de army. "All us chullun begged ter play dat an' we all sing an' dance great goodness! 'Let me nigh, by my cry, Give me Jesus.
Lijah, he step along faster, not sayin' nothin' but feelin' kinda oneasy. He wisht he ain't said dem words. Dat evenin' Lijah come back fum town wid some co'n meal an' a side o' bacon.
Killdee! I wish you mighty well! Mr. Killdee! I wish you mighty well! I wish you mighty well! Do co'n 'll be ready 'g'inst dumplin' day Dat sun's a slantin'; But nigger gotter watch, en stick, en stay Dat sun's a slantin'; Same ez de bee-martin watchin' un de jay Dat sun's a slantin'; Dat sun's a slantin' en a slippin' away!
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