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Updated: May 14, 2025
Hit'll all come out right don't you worry." Half an hour later the girl on her way home found Colonel Pendleton at his gate on horseback, apparently waiting for some one, and, looking back through the carriage window, Marjorie saw Gray galloping along behind her. She did not stop to speak with the colonel, and a look of uneasy wonder crossed his face as she drove by.
"Joe," said the girl in a low voice, "I wants thet ye heeds me clost. Ef we fails ter save this timber hit'll jest erbout kill Paw. Ef ther dam busts loose, somebody's got ter ride them rafts." The boy's face paled abruptly. He was a handsome youth, outwardly cut to as fine a pattern of physical fitness as his sister exemplified, but in his eyes one found none of her dauntlessness of spirit.
But Bud drew back his shoulders and spoke with a brave assumption of restored cheerfulness. "I'm a-seekin' whatever I kin hev," he staunchly declared. "More'n anything else, 'though, I'm seeking ter see ye happy." He paused then with a forced smile that, for all his effort, was stiff-lipped, and said slowly, "I reckon hit'll be either Halloway or Jerry . . . they're both right upstanding men."
Hit'll he'p yer ter keep yo' chin up. "An' dat ain't all. Hit'll he'p me ter keep my chin up when I ca'ys dis greenback bill to de grocery to-morrer an' I'll turn it into a wheel, too two wheels, wid a bulge between 'em. Now guess wha' dat is?" The congregation were by this time convulsed with laughter, and some one answered aloud: "A flour-bar'l!" "Dat's it, Joe, a flour-bar'l!
En de goose he say, 'Hit'll soon be day, En I got no feders fer ter give away! Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him! "Ketch him, oh, ketch him, Run ter de roos' en fetch him! He ain't gwine tell On de dinner bell Ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!" "Scoot 'long to bed now, you yonkers, or ye'll look like spooks to-mo-oh! Hit's day a'ready," cried the singer directly he had whooped out his last note.
"I wuzzent up dar close to whar Miss Sarah wuz a readin', but I kinder geddered in dat it wuz one er deze 'ere w'atzisnames w'at you hollers inter one year an it comes out er de udder. Hit's mighty funny unter me how dese fokes kin go an' prognosticate der eckoes inter one er deze yer i'on boxes, an' dar hit'll stay on twel de man comes long an' tu'ns de handle an' let's de fuss come pilin' out.
Keep a stiff upper lip, both on yo', an' we'll try t' manage him. Don't weaken. Hit'll do no good. He'll be wuss'n ever then." Si and Shorty instinctively felt for the revolvers in their pockets. The newcomer tied his horse to a sapling and strode into the house.
And at daylight they saw the fugitive ride out of the woods at the back of the house and boldly around to the front of the house, where he left his horse in the yard and disappeared. "Now send three men to ketch him if he runs out the back way quick!" said the Falin. "Hit'll take 'em twenty minutes to git thar through the woods.
"Co'rse," the stiller explained, as though an explanation were needed, "Parson Rasba ain' used to hit; he could carry more, an' hit'll take him longer to get lit up. But, law me, when hit begins to act! That's three yeah old, boys, mild, but no mewl yo' eveh saw has the kick that's got, apple an' berry cider, stilled down from the ferment!" Virtue had not been rewarded.
Thar is one other body thet knows an' ef so be I got kilt he'd be right speedy ter guess ther man thet done hit an' ther reason, too. I reckon hit'll profit ye better ter go on bein' friends with me." Again long silence, then grudgingly the murderer-elect rose to his feet and nodded reluctant assent. "So be it," he grumbled. "I gives ye my hand ter deaden him whensoever ye says ther word.
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