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Updated: May 16, 2025
Weel, Dud, are ye glad? Ye hae killt yer first moose!" "Yes," said Hemenway, "it's my first moose. But it's your first moose, too. And I think it's our last. Ye gods, what a fighter!" "You must write a novel," said my Uncle Peter to the young Man of Letters. "The novel is the literary form in which the psychological conditions of interest are most easily discovered and met.
"He's a man well on to seventy," answered Cosmo, with a pang at the thought. "Ay; that'll be aboot it! There can be no doobt it was his father oor lord killt an' as little 'at efter he did it he gaed doon the braid ro'd to the deevil as fest's ever he cud rin. It was jist like as wi' Judas he maun gang till's ain.
He had n' wait' long befo' he seed a black cat run up de path to'ds de do'. Des ez soon ez she got close ter 'im, he le'p' out en ketch' her by de th'oat, en got a grip on her, des lack de cunjuh man had tol' 'im ter do. En lo en behol'! no sooner had de blood 'mence' ter flow dan de black cat tu'nt back ter Mahaly, en Dan seed dat he had killt his own wife.
"I'd planned it for months I've follered owd Melrose many times I've been close oop to 'im when he had noa noshun whativver. I might ha' killt him a doosen times over. He wor a devil an' I paid him oot! I was creepin' round t' hoose that night and ov a suddent, there was a door openin', an' a light. It seemed to be God sayin', 'Theer's a way, mon! go in, and do't! So I went in.
"Tat's a fine way of mine, when I can get behint a mon. I've killt mony a stot like it, shoost t' keep in the way of it." And he stabbed the air, twisted his wrist, and clicked delightedly. The men dumped the body near the fire. One of them stooped down and was for putting his hand in the man's pocket, but drew it back as if he had thrust it by mischance into the flames. Then I knew.
Den he run down ter ole Aun' Peggy, but she did n' know de wolf langwidge, en couldn't 'a' tuk off dis yuther goopher nohow, eben ef she 'd 'a' unnerstood w'at Dan wuz sayin'. So po' Dan wuz bleedgd ter be a wolf all de rest er his bawn days. "Dey foun' Mahaly down by her own cabin nex' mawnin', en eve'ybody made a great 'miration 'bout how she 'd be'n killt. De niggers 'lowed a wolf had bit her.
An' gien there bena a man or twa killt a'ready, " Before he finished his sentence, Kelpie was levelling herself for the sea gate. Johnny Bykes was locking it on the other side, in haste to secure his eye share of what was going on, when he caught sight of Malcolm tearing up.
"De fo'-foot ain' got no power. It has ter be de hin'-foot, suh, de lef hin'-foot er a grabe-ya'd rabbit, killt by a cross-eyed nigger on a da'k night in de full er de moon." "They must be very rare and valuable," I said. "Dey is kinder ska'ce, suh, en dey ain' no 'mount er money could buy mine, suh. I mought len' it ter anybody I sot sto' by, but I would n' sell it, no indeed, suh, I would n'."
"I had a good look at her 'long about five o'clock from the woods across from her house. She's a heap sight older but I knowed her all right." "You are sure?" "Sure as my name is " "Sh!" "Course I'm sure. She was Owen Carter's widder. He was killt by a tree fallin' on him. Oh, I got a good memory. I can't afford to have a bad one. I remember her as plain as if it wuz yestiday."
I dunno who killt 'im, en I doan wanter know, fer I 'd be mos' sho' ter fin' out dat my boy had sta'ted de fuss. Ef I 'd 'a' had a son lack you, Brer Dan, I 'd 'a' be'n a proud nigger; oh, yas, I would, sho's you bawn. But you ain' lookin' ez well ez you oughter, Brer Dan. Dey's sump'n de matter wid you, en w'at 's mo', I 'spec' you dunno w'at it is.
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