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Updated: May 1, 2025
Smoky Jack opened the door; four or five men came in. At the door opposite appeared Ransom. "What is it?" he asked harshly. "What brings you here at this time o' night?" The leader of the party, a tall 'Piker, answered as curtly "Business." "What business?" "I don't talk business afore wimmenfolks." Mintie's face was white enough now, and her lips were quivering.
Now, shtandin' in a tub at the mouth o' the pit to be washed by yer wimmenfolks is what we wouldn't do in this counthry 'tisn't black naygurs we are an' these men that lives in the dark and have no time to think, an' nothin' to think wid, these are the men ye put to rule this counthry, men that they print sich rubbish as Tit-Bits for, because they couldn't understand sinse.
"Yore paw an' yore two brothers was laywaid this mawnin' comin' 'long Yaller Banks togither," was the message brought by a breathless bearer of news. "The wimmenfolks air totin' 'em home now. Talt, he ain't dead yit." From a dry spot behind a log Anse lifted his rifle and started over the ridge with the long, shambling gait of the born hill-climber that eats up the miles.
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