While the two youths were still lingering by the wagon they heard these words: "Have you arranged everything with Whitecar and Devil Jim?" "See me! see me!" apparently meaning, "Rely upon me." "Is Greenley ready to make the diversion if any attack be made upon us?" "See me! see me! His gallus is up and he'd burn de world." "This Lawyer Clayton?" "See me! see me!
The Calverts and Milburns have married into Mrs. Washington's kin. Does my wife love me?" When Levin Dennis awoke in the bottom of the old wagon it was being rapidly driven, and Van Dorn's voice from the driver's seat was heard to say, without its usual lisp and Spanish interjection: "Whitecar, is your brother at Dover sure of his game?" "Cock sure, Cap'n. Got 'em tree'd!
"I love him," muttered Sorden, admiringly, "as I never loved A male," and collected his party. "Whitecar, you and your brother hold the back door with your staves. If it is forced, Miles Tindel " "Tackle 'em, Cap'n Van!" "Will throw his red-pepper dust into the eyes of any that come out." "Oh, tackle 'em, Cap'n Van!" "Derrick Molleston!" "See me, O see me!" the powerful negro muttered.
"My skin! No, Captain. Air they all there?" "All," said Van Dorn; "I see thirty thousand dollars of flesh in sight." "And niggers won't scrimmage nohow," spoke Whitecar. "Let's beat 'em mos' to death." "Come on then," said Van Dorn, softly; "if the windows are not lifted, break them in."
Why, Jim Whitecar, Lord bless your dear soul!" this addressed to a thick-set, sandy, uncertain-looking man who was about retreating into the Capitol Tavern "what brings you to town, Jim?" "It's a free country, I reckon," exclaimed the suspicious-looking man. "Goy! that's so, Jimmy. We're all glad to see you in Dover behaving of yourself, Jim. Now don't give me any trouble this year, friend Jimmy.
"That fellow, Whitecar, I'm reserving," said Clayton, "to punish when I can use him to sustain an argument in favor of admitting negro testimony in kidnapping cases. Without that admission, these kidnappers cannot be convicted: even Patty Cannon here may escape us, though she has killed white men."
Van Dorn stood blushing, pulling his long mustache of flax, and resting on his cowhide whip. "Dave," he called to a powerful negro, "get down from that mule; you're too drunk to go. Jump up in his place, Owen Daw!" The widow's son gladly vaulted on the animal. "Sorden," continued Van Dorn, "you know all the roads: lead the way! Whitecar, go with him! We rendezvous at Punch Hall at eight o'clock.