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"Mars' Cary! Mars' Cary! Dey's comin' dis time sho' 'nuff!" "How many?" Cary cried, springing for the roadway and his horse. "Dey's comin' thu' de woods an' Lawd Gawd, de yearth is fyar blue wid' 'em." "Billy!" commanded Cary. "Take Lightfoot as fast as you can down to the edge of the woods. Don't worry, Hallie, they'll never catch me once I'm in the saddle."
Uncle Billy now came forward in an effort to make his master's clothes more presentable. "Heh, Mars' Cary, lemme brush you off, seh. You's fyar kivered." "Look out, you old rascal," Cary laughed, as his wife backed away coughing before the cloud of fine white dust that rose under Uncle Billy's vigorous hands. "You're choking your mistress to death. Never mind the dust.
Fyar you well," and Blue Beard, making a wide circle around the carriage whip, took himself off the scene. "Now, Mother," Virgie announced, "I have to watch at the castle window," and she jumped up on the bench. "Sister Anne; Sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?" "No one, Fatima nothing but a cloud of dust made by the wind." "Look again, Sister Anne. Do you see anybody coming?"
"I reckon the reason is bein' 'round human folks, Cunnel. When a varmint loses his wildness, he loses his grit, 'n' I may say he's apt ter go down in health. Ruth says that Injuns could stand bein' burned with fyar 'n' not flinch. Thar hain't no white men now-days kin do hit. I've tried," he rolled back his sleeve and showed a long scar on his forearm. "I tried jest ter see, 'n' had ter quit.
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