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Entering his own house, Nimbus placed his burden in the chair at the head of the table, while he himself took his seat on one of the wooden benches at the side. "I jes brought Bre'er 'Liab in ter supper, honey," said he to his wife; "kase I see'd he war gettin' inter de dumps like, an' I 'llowed yer'd chirk him up a bit ef yer jes hed him over h'yer a while."
You see, the cattlemen has had the free range so long they naturally 'low they own it, and they have the nerve to tell us fellers to keep off. They explain smooth enough that they ain't got nawthin' agin me pussonally you understand only they 'low me settlin' h'yer will bring others, which is shore about right, fer h'yer you be, kit an' caboodle.
Now, I don't see no use in dis h'yer notion, not a bit. Ef de white folks hez made up der minds an' hit seems ter me dey hez dat cullu'd folks shan't vote 'less dey votes wid dem, we mout jest ez well gib up fust as las'!" "Nebber! nebber, by God!" cried Nimbus, striding across the platform, his hands clenched and the veins showing full and round on neck and brow.
The sight of the woman, however, whom all of them regarded so highly, reining in her restive horse and commanding silence, arrested the action of all. But Nimbus, now raging like a mad lion, strode up to her, waving his sword and cursing fearfully in his wild wrath, and said hoarsely: "You git out o' de way, Miss Mollie! We all tinks a heap ob you, but yer hain't got no place h'yer!
Bress God, she's alive! Dar ain't no need ter ax fer 'Gena ner de little ones now; I knows dey's all right! Miss Mollie's done tuk keer o' dem, else she wouldn't be h'yer now. Bress de Lord, I sees de deah little lamb once mo'." "There, there!" said Mollie gently. "You must not talk any more now. I have brought you something to eat. You are tired and hungry. You must eat now.
"An' he sez, 'What for don't yer like him, den? "An' I sez, 'Dunno, on'y jes' kase he's sech a gran' rascal. "Den he larf fit ter kill, an' say, 'Dat's so, dat's so, boy. Den he take out his pencil an' write a word er two on a slip o' paper an' say, "'H'yer, boy, yer gibs dat ter Marse Si War', soon ez yer gits home. D'yer heah?
Den I t'ought I'd try an' git money ter go an' hunt 'em up, but it was jes' ez it was afo'. I dunno how, but de harder I wuk de porer I got, till finally I jes started off afoot an' alone ter go ter Kansas; an' h'yer I is, ready ter grow up wid de kentry, Marse Hesden, jest ez soon ez I gits ter Sally an' de chillen." "I'm glad you have not had any political trouble," said Hesden.
"I'm sure I don't know. One o' Mr. Ware's?" "I should tink not, honey; not edzackly now. Dat ar mule b'longs ter me Nimbus! D'yer h'yer dat, 'Liab?" "No! Yer don't tell me? Bless de Lord, Nimbus, yer's a fortunit man. Yer fortin's made, Nimbus.
I kep' a'sendin' letters ter Sally h'yer an' dar, but, bress yer soul, I nebber heard nuffin' on 'em atterwards.
"Now you, Berry," said Nimbus, extending his hand heartily, "what for yer no tell me dis afore?" "Jes kase 'twas no use," answered Berry. "Wall, yer know, I left h'yer 'bout two hours ob de sun, an' I pushes on right peart, kase it's a smart step ober ter Rufe's, ennyhow, an' I wanted ter see him an' git back ter help Nimbus in de crap ob a Monday.
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