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He interrupted her, drawling his words a little: "The guy you shot was Lawson. You bored him a heap. I've toted him downstairs. He's plenty dead. It was plumb good shootin' for a woman." His words shocked her to action, and she got up and walked around the foot of the bed, from where she could see the spot where the intruder must have fallen after she had shot him.
Crenshaw was averse to children as being inimical to cleanliness and order, oppressive virtues that drove Crenshaw himself in his hours of leisure to the woodshed, where he might spit freely. "I reckon you'd rather drop a word with yo' missus before you toted him home?" suggested Yancy, who knew something of the nature of his friend's domestic thraldom.
"The only thing on wheels in the camp is a mule wagon, and the mules are packin' gravel from the river this afternoon," explained Dick Mattingly apologetically to Christie, "or we'd have toted I mean carried you and your baggage up to the shant the your house.
I ought not to have toted that melon off. What are you going to do about it?" She was trembling from head to foot with excitement and nervous dread, and it seemed to her that he had never looked so formidable before; but though her heart quaked, she courageously stood her ground, and waited for him to name her sentence.
Remember, now, there is a pile of splendid oak, ready cut for the fire, within easy reach of the door several cords of it and it is all ours. Our mess cut it and "toted" it there. It will keep a good fire, night and day, for a month.
"Larrovers fur meddlins," Aunt Chloe invariably answered those whose curiosity got the better of their discretion an explanation which only deepened the mystery, no one being able to translate it. "She's safe, honey!" Aunt Chloe cried, when she caught sight of me. "I toted de baby, an' she toted de box. Po' li'l chinkapin! Mos' break a body's heart to see it!
If I ever have a fireside and children, I'll sit beside it and tell 'em how their daddy toted off a shoat from a whole circus full of people. And maybe my grandchildren, too. They'll certainly be proud a whole passel. Why, says he, 'there was two tents, one openin' into the other. This shoat was on a platform, tied with a little chain.
I pick' 'im up in my arms wid de fleg still in he han's, an' toted 'im back jes' like I did dat day when he wuz a baby, an' ole marster gin 'im to me in my arms, an' sez he could trus' me, an' tell me to tek keer on 'im long ez he lived. I kyar'd 'im 'way off de battlefiel' out de way o' de balls, an' I laid 'im down onder a big tree tell I could git somebody to ketch de sorrel for me.
Once 'pon a time dey wuz a momsus mean man, en he live 'way out in de prairie all 'lone by hisself, 'cep'n he had a wife. En bimeby she died, en he tuck en toted her way out dah in de prairie en buried her. Well, she had a golden arm all solid gold, fum de shoulder down. He wuz pow'ful mean pow'ful; en dat night he couldn't sleep, caze he want dat golden arm so bad.
I know'd dat man wuz gwineter shoot Mars Jeems ef he could, en dat wuz mo'n I could stan'. Many's en many's de time dat I nuss dat boy, en hilt 'im in dese arms, en toted 'im on dis back, en w'en I see dat Yankee lay dat gun 'cross a lim' en take aim at Mars Jeems I up wid my ole rifle, en shet my eyes en let de man have all she had."
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