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"Keep them jest whar we was!" he called back to Hall and Kelsey, who had not passed the last stiff water. "Put the heavy cattle in fust! Hit maybe won't swim them. If the stuff gets wet we kain't help that. Tell the wimern hit's all right."
"If you kain't shoot it off no better'n you does yo' mouf you kain't hurt me much." From a corner of the fence Mose took up a wash-kettle and put it upon the wheelbarrow. "You'll b b b be dead b b before night. Be easier t t to take what I come atter than to try t t to tell 'em w w what I want." As he turned his wheelbarrow about he saw Lije Peters standing in the gap.
We're startin' out, an' we kain't start out like a mob. Take yer time." "Any time, any way," said Banion simply. "No man can abuse me." "How'd you gentlemen prefer fer to fight?" inquired the man who had described himself as Bill Jackson, one of the fur brigaders of the Rocky Mountain Company; a man with a reputation of his own in Plains and mountain adventures of hunting, trading and scouting.
"And I thought I'd have you perform the ceremony." This suggestion threw the old negro into excitement. "Me, Mr. Peter?" "Yes. Why not?" "Why, Mr. Peter, I kain't jine you an' Miss Cissie Dildine." Peter looked at him, astonished. "Why can't you?" "Whyn't you git a white preacher?" "Well," deliberated Peter, gravely, "it's a matter of principle with me, Parson Ranson.
He opened his eyes after a moment, and stared vacantly up into my face. "Debbils," he moaned, "debbils, t' kill a po' ole man. Ain't I said I done gwine t' lib wid yo'? Kain't trabble fas' 'nough fo' yo'? Don' shoot, oh, don' shoot! Ah!" He dropped back again into the road with a groan, and tossed from side to side.
"Yas'm, come off an' furgot twenty-fi' cents dat I wanted to fetch wid me. I owes er quarter ter er crap-shootin' nigger ober dar, an' when I kain't pay him he gwine retch his han' up atter my wool. I doan want no big nigger retchin' atter me, caze I ain't right well dis mawin'. Co'se ef I wuz well I wouldn' mine it so much, but ez it is, it bodders me might'ly.
De niggers all over in dah is gittin' mighty bad. Now, my wife she done tol' me dat dis mawnin', she's a-feelin' mighty con-trite." "What did she tell you about it?" "Well, Mas' Edd'ern, you know, sah, dere's a heap o' things about black folks dat white folks kain't understand an' nevah will. You know fer ovah fifty yeahs black folks has been thinkin' sometime dey'd run dis country.
Seein' as I kain't read I ain't goin' ter take no one's word fer it." "You insolent brat!" exclaimed Peter Conant, highly incensed. Then he turned and called: "Come here, Mary Louise." Mary Louise promptly advanced and with every step she made the boy retreated a like distance, until the lawyer seized his arm and held it in a firm grip. "What do you mean by running away?" he demanded.
But all by myself, an' sober, an' not sociable with Dang Yore Eyes jest now, I sw'ar, I kain't think o' nothin'. What's a girl's mind fer ef hit hain't to think o' things?" "It was about him? It was about Kit Carson, something he had was it about the gold news?" "Mebbe. I don't know." "Did he Mr. Banion say anything?" "Mostly erbout you, an' not much.
"M' gal, y' kain't think how Ah feel about them Yanks," he went on tremulously. "An' Ah want y' t' promise me thet whether Ah'm 'live er dead, y' 'll allus keep on you' own side of th' river." She glanced up at him quickly. "Do you mean that, daddy?" she asked, using the name he had borne in her babyhood. "Ah do! Ah do!" "Then I promise." Her tone was sorrowful. "Mar'lyn?"
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