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'The man that had stolen the goods in Friday Street was not taken yet. I asked him, "Where do you mean to go, Mr. Shepherdson?" "Why, Butcher," says he, "the Setting Moon, in the Commercial Road, is a snug house, and I shall bang out there for a time. I shall call myself Simpson, which appears to me to be a modest sort of a name. Perhaps you'll give us a look in, Butcher?"
'Bout three months ago my cousin Bud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other side of the river, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame' foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind him, and sees old Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun in his hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumping off and taking to the brush, Bud 'lowed he could out-run him; so they had it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all the time; so at last Bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced around so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, and the old man he rode up and shot him down.
Was it a Grangerford or a Shepherdson?" "Laws, how do I know? It was so long ago." "Don't anybody know?" "Oh, yes, pa knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people; but they don't know now what the row was about in the first place." "Has there been many killed, Buck?" "Yes; right smart chance of funerals. But they don't always kill.
There was another clan of aristocracy around there five or six families mostly of the name of Shepherdson. They was as high-toned and well born and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords.
They are very short; and, I think, curious. We welcomed the Carpet Bag, as cordially as Mr. Shepherdson welcomed the false Butcher at the Setting Moon. Sergeant Dornton proceeded. 'In 1847, I was despatched to Chatham, in search of one Mesheck, a Jew. 'Mesheck was off, before I got to Chatham. All I could learn about him was, that he had gone, probably to London, and had with him a Carpet Bag.
They held the candle, and took a good look at me, and all said, "Why, HE ain't a Shepherdson no, there ain't any Shepherdson about him." Then the old man said he hoped I wouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by it it was only to make sure. So he didn't pry into my pockets, but only felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right.
Mars Buck he loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home a Shepherdson or bust. Well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, I reck'n, en you bet you he'll fetch one ef he gits a chanst." I took up the river road as hard as I could put. By and by I begin to hear guns a good ways off.
Was it a Grangerford or a Shepherdson?" "Laws, how do I know? It was so long ago." "Don't anybody know?" "Oh, yes, pa knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people; but they don't know now what the row was about in the first place." "Has there been many killed, Buck?" "Yes; right smart chance of funerals. But they don't always kill.
She run off in de night some time nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get married to dat young Harney Shepherdson, you know leastways, so dey 'spec. De fambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago maybe a little mo' en' I TELL you dey warn't no time los'. Sich another hurryin' up guns en hosses YOU never see!
They held the candle, and took a good look at me, and all said, "Why, HE ain't a Shepherdson no, there ain't any Shepherdson about him." Then the old man said he hoped I wouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by it it was only to make sure. So he didn't pry into my pockets, but only felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right.
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