Hank sat down on a log by the wayside and beckoned Bill over to him. The latter came slowly across the field and seated himself astride one end of the log.
“Howdy, Hank”; “Howdy, Bill,” passed in greeting between the two cronies.
“ ’Pears like to me, Hank, yer a-lookin’ pale,” remarked Bill, as he trailed his whip backward and forward in the dust.
Hank could stand it no longer; and with a terrible imprecation, he unfolded to his friend his tale of woe and insult. Bill listened with eager curiosity, and a satisfied, knowing look might have been seen to settle about the corners of his eyes and mouth.
“Wall, wall,” said he, “these ar’ great times when a d⸺ West Ingy half-white nigger can raise his hand agin a white man. Be yer hurt much, Hank?”
“Some in my body, but more in my feelin’s.”
“What ar’ we a-comin’ to? I tell you, Hank, it is ’bout time sumthin’ was done.”
“That’s all well enough to talk,” replied Hank, “but what kin a man do agin the money thet thet feller’s got to back him up? I cayn’t see a handle on him.”
“Wall,” replied Bill, “I kin.”
“You kin!” exclaimed Hank, while a slow smile of derision covered his face; “wall, I’d jes’ like to know how.”
“Yer kin laugh, Hank Davis, but it’s a fac’. ’Taint goin’ to be no hard job, nuther, to git all thet money, all them purty trinkets and fine furniture, and the seven hundred niggers in our pockets ef”—(and here he paused as though to give emphasis to his words) “ef we wurks the thing right.”
“Damn it all, man, why don’t yer let out?” demanded Hank, as he rose excitedly from his seat on the log. “I’m the man to help on anythin’ agin thet man, an’ yer knows it. No need of yer bein’ so infernal aggravatin’ ’bout tellin’ me.”
Bill laughed at his companion’s excitement. “Easy thar, easy, Hank. This ar’ a mighty titlish job, but we kin wurk it—we kin wurk it. Fust place, yer see Montfort’s brought them slaves o’ hisn hyar and don’t tend to keep ’em only ’bout ten years, and then every one o’ them will have bought hisself, accordin’ to the laws thet ar’ governin’ them over to the West Indies. Now, yer know ther’s a bad eggsample to set befo’ the niggers roun’ this town. Eny way, we’s goin’ to think so,” drawled Bill, with an expressive wink at his friend. “It’s a law of the United States that ef eny man is caught creatin’ dissatisfacshun among the slaves he desarves death, and death he gits. Now, this ar Montfort has been causin’ trouble fer us by his eggsample. Every nigger roun’ hyar knows all ’bout his ’rangements fer givin’ his slaves thar freedom, and I tell yer, Hank, its causin’ dissatisfacshun ’mong all our slaves. An’ then the money, honey, the money! sech sights of it all done up in little shammy-skin bags, an’ thet boy Jesse settin’ on the floor amoosin’ hisself buildin’ houses with them gold eagles!”
Hank listened to his companion’s words with open mouth. As the latter finished he said, with a look of admiration: “Wall, I’ll be d⸺d! Now, look a-hyar, Bill Sampson, yer needn’t tell me thet all thet yer have just unfolded to me is yer own idees, ’cause yer could no more hev got them thoughts through yer thick head than I could. Someone’s been fixin’ yer up. Out with it now, an’ tell me the whole thing. Ef we’s goin’ inter this business, we’s got to be square on the deal with our fren’s. Who’s the bottom o’ this thing?”
Bill produced a plug of tobacco, offered his friend a chew and took one himself. “What I’m tellin’ yer, Hank, is ’tween fren’s,” said he, chewing and crossing his legs.
“Jes’ so,” replied Hank.
“I wuz tellin’ yer the ’riginater o’ this plan, or I wuz about to.” Bill paused to spit out some of his tobacco juice on the ground, so that it would not overflow the tank, so to speak, and run out of each corner of his mouth, “Beats all nater, Hank, how a man’ll git dead set onter a piece o’ caliker.”
“Meanin’ by that, Bill, that Ans Pollock’s got set on some gal.”
“Fact!” said Bill, with a wink.
“Who’s?” asked Hank.
“It mote be Mis’ Montfort herself, Hank.”
“Sho, you don’ say, re’lly,” said Hank, with a wicked look. “Don’ blame him, blamed ef I do. But thet’s all the good it’ll do him.”
Bill cut the air into imaginary circles with his whip, and without taking any notice of his friend, continued: “As I was sayin’, Ans Pollock, he says ter me, ‘Bill, thet’s a dooced purty ’ooman o’ Montfort’s,’ an’ I tol’ him what I thought ’bout her havin’ black blud in her somewhar. ‘Mabby,’ says he, ‘mabby.’ An’ then he says, kin’ o’ generous like, ‘I’d take the ’ooman an’ the two brats, an’ the boys might hev the slaves, an’ the money, an’ the fixin’s in the house.’ I tol’ him I knew the boys’d stan’ by him in enything he might do to rid a peaceful neighborhood of sech a disturbin’ critter as Montfort. I tol’ him
