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Updated: June 19, 2025
The old man passed to the third inevitable proposition: "What air you'uns puttin' ouah niggahs in the field to fight we'uns foh?" Then the whole car-load shouted back at him at once: "What are you'uns putting blood-hounds on our trails to hunt us down, for?" Myself "Well, we warmed it to you pretty lively until you caught us.
We will let him put it in his own drawling tones: "Friens, it am like dis. Though I has bin a Christian for months, I could not bring myself to gib away de hidin' places of my ol' pals. It looked too much like treachery and betrayal. P'raps I'm wrong but, if so, you'uns will pardon me. But now de case am diffrunt.
All hope seemed gone. Wiles, apparently wishing more to show a brave front to man than a humble and contrite spirit to God, simply said: "I've nuthin' to say to de likes uv you'uns; only I defy ye to do yer wu'st."
The old gentleman entered upon the next stage of the invariable routine of discussion with a Rebel: "Wall, what air you'uns down heah, a-fightin' we'uns foh?" As I had answered this question several hundred times, I had found the most extinguishing reply to be to ask in return: "What are you'uns coming up into our country to fight we'uns for?"
At this point he got writing material and, asking the woman clearly to describe the way to the cave's mouths, he wrote as she dictated. We will write the account in her own words: "De big openin' is 'bout twenty feet below de top of Bald Knob. You'uns 'member you'uns kin see from de knob's foot his bald head, whar is great rocks and not ary trees.
Our only chance is to reach de forks of de road 'fore dey can overtake us. But Dolly is purty well played out. Der ain't much go in her. How is Velox standin' it?" "My hoss shows his blood an' trainin'," said Turner. "He's all in a sweat an' lather an' he breathes fast, but I tink he's good for de distance. You'uns must gib Dolly mo' whip and spur. Better to kill her dan to be tuk."
All highly respected him and his words had much weight: "Thur is al'ys danger in takin; a hoss thief to jail. Dey air slick by natur' and der bizness makes 'em slicker. You'uns can't trust sich a feller as Wiles ur Turner a minit. Ef you'uns put 'im in jail he mought 'scape, and aryhow we don't know but sum smart lawyers might cl'ar 'im ur git a light sentence for 'im.
The Judge tried to comfort her, saying: "Be composed, woman, and finish your story, and I will help you all I am able." Jemima replied: "I did not cum here to git help, but revenge. Sam Wiles, Zibe Turner, and der crowd have bin busy for a long time makin' 'licit whisky. I know whar dey make and store it, and I'm willin' to tell you'uns how to git to de place."
She dropped her pail, ran into the house, and told her mother the news. Mrs. Spink thought it best to inform her husband of the occurrence, though he was still quite ill. Spink spoke from his bed: "That hoss has prob'ly went back to his old hum. You'uns knows I bought him of a feller away back on de knobs. Sum one must go find 'im. I can't go, nuther can yer ma.
The slubber never spoke, but glanced at his wife, who stood glaring at him. Then she broke out in a thin, drawling, daring, poor-white voice a ring of impertinence and even a challenge in it: "I'll tell you'uns what's the matter with Bud. Bud Billings is got what most men needs when they begin to raise sand about their vittels for nothin'. I've busted a plate over his head."
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