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He found the square house in a condition of panic. Biggs and his helper had discovered the mulatto and his wife hiding in the barn. The negroes and the children were crying. Mrs. Brimstead met Harry outside the door. "What are we to do?" she asked, tearfully. "Just keep cool," said Harry. "Father Traylor and Mr. Peasley will be here soon."
The story that follows is an abbreviation of the account of the journey of Samson Traylor and his wife and two children and their dog, Sambo, in 1831, from Vergennes, Vermont, to the Illinois country; and the part "Abe" Lincoln, a clerk in Denton Offut's store at New Salem, had in building a log cabin for them upon their arrival there; and concludes by telling how Lincoln licked a bully.
Perhaps you don't know about that and really it doesn't matter. Traylor, tune up your fiddle." Samson began to play, stopping often to give the hand of welcome to a guest. The people of New Salem were in their best clothes. The women wore dresses of new calico save Mrs. Dr. Allen, who wore a black silk dress which had come with her from her late home in Lexington.
He said he was cook on the Anne Traylor, just come in, and he believed he'd done time. If he hadn't I'll swear he ought to have, from the look of him. "About half an hour afterward in walks an oldish chap with a stoop and a gray goat's beard. He wanted a ditty-box, too; something extra large and old, and strong, and a tray with a lock-up till in it.
They be goin' to do some regulatin' to-night. Ol' Satan'll break loose. Ef you don't wa'ch out they'll come over an' burn his house sartin." "We'll watch out," said Abe. "They don't know Traylor. He's one of the best men in this country." "I've heered he were a he man an' a right powerful, God-fearin' man," said the minister.
He spoke also of her humor and originality and of her gift for business "which amounted to absolute genius." The store had doubled in size under her management and with the help of the capital of Samson and Sarah Traylor. Its wholesale and retail business was larger than any north of St. Louis. The epidemic had seized her toward the last of her nursing and left the marks of its scourge upon her.
"Colonel is a more grander name," she insisted. "I call it plum coralapus." She had thus expressed her notion of the limit of human grandeur. "Do you like it better than Judge?" "Wall, Judge has a good sound to it but I'm plum sot on Colonel. If you kin give that name to a horse, which Samson Traylor has done it, I don't see why a man shouldn't be treated just as well."
He wore top boots and spurs and a broad brimmed black hat and gloves and a fur waistcoat and purty linen. He looked at the tires of the wagon and said: 'That's the one we've followed. "'Which o' you is Samson Traylor? he asked. "'I am, said Traylor. "The young feller jumped off his horse and tied him to the fence.
When Samson opened it he saw in the moonlight a young colored man and woman standing near the door-step. "Is dis Mistah Traylor?" the young man asked. "It is," said Samson. "What can I do for you?" "Mas'r, de good Lord done fotched us here to ask you fo' help," said the negro. "We be nigh wone out with cold an' hungah, suh, 'deed we be."
"Just then Stephen Nuckles, the circuit minister, rode in with the big bloodhound that follers him around. "The other slaver had got off his hoss in the scrimmage. Traylor started for him. The slaver began to back away and suddenly broke into a run. The big dog took after him with a kind of a lion roar. We all began yelling at the dog. We made more noise than you'd hear at the end of a hoss race.
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