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Updated: June 18, 2025
Dey're gwine ter kill us anyhow; an' we're tired, we read de newspapers, an' we're tired er bein' shot down like dogs, widout jedge er jury. We'd ruther die fightin' dan be stuck like pigs in a pen!" "God help you!" said Miller. "As for me, I must find my wife and child." "Good-by, doctuh," cried Josh, brandishing a huge knife. "'Member 'bout de ole 'oman, ef you lives thoo dis.
In the white man who held him up, Miller recognized a neighbor of his own. After a short detention and a perfunctory search, the white man remarked apologetically: "Sorry to have had to trouble you, doctuh, but them's the o'ders. It ain't men like you that we're after, but the vicious and criminal class of niggers." Miller smiled bitterly as he urged his horse forward.
I never moles's no w'ite man, 'less 'n he moles's me fus'. But w'en de ole 'oman dies, doctuh, an' I gits a good chance at dat w'ite man, dere ain' no use talkin', suh! dere's gwine ter be a mix-up, an' a fune'al, er two fune'als er may be mo', ef anybody is keerliss enough to git in de way."
"Doctuh," said Green, "de w'ite folks is talkin' 'bout lynchin' Sandy Campbell fer killin' ole Mis' Ochiltree. He never done it, an' dey oughtn' ter be 'lowed ter lynch 'im." "They ought not to lynch him, even if he committed the crime," returned Miller, "but still less if he didn't. What do you know about it?"
"Yes. Who are you, and where are my wife and child?" He was looking around in perplexity, when the door of a low closet under the kitchen sink was opened from within, and a woolly head was cautiously protruded. "Are you sho' dat's you, doctuh?" "Yes, Sally; where are" "An' not some w'ite man come ter bu'n down de house an' kill all de niggers?" "No, Sally, it's me all right. Where is my wife?
Dis yer boy wuz jes' gwine 'way fer ter study ter be a doctuh, an' he ma'ied dis Janet, an' tuck her 'way wid 'im. Dey went off ter Europe, er Irope, er Orope, er somewhere er 'nother, 'way off yander, an' come back here las' year an' sta'ted dis yer horspital an' school fer ter train de black gals fer nusses." "He's a very good doctor, Jane, and is doing a useful work.
She ma'ied a doctuh, an' all dat, an' she lives in a big house, an' she's be'n roun' de worl' an de Lawd knows where e'se: but Mis' 'Livy don' like de sight er her, an' never will, ez long ez de sun rises an' sets. Dey ce't'nly does favor one anudder, anybody mought 'low dey wuz twins, ef dey didn' know better. Well, well!
"My father?" "YESsuh! POW! he hit 'er! An' you' ma run tell me git doctuh quick 's I kin telefoam she sho' you' pa goin' bus' a blood-vessel. He ain't takin' on 'tall NOW. He ain't nothin' 'tall to what he was 'while ago. You done miss' it, Mist' Bibbs. Doctuh got him all quiet' down, to what he was. POW! he hit'er! Yessuh!" He took Bibbs's coat and proffered a crumpled telegraph form.
Whether it was the republication of this article that had stirred up anew the sleeping dogs of race prejudice and whetted their thirst for blood, he could not yet tell; but at any rate, there was mischief on foot. "Fer God's sake, doctuh, don' go no closeter ter dat town," pleaded his informant, "er you'll be killt sho'. Come on wid us, suh, an' tek keer er yo'se'f.
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