Contending Forces

defendant in the matter, of course, I had the choice of weapins, an’ I choose rifles. We kep’ mighty secret ’bout the ’rangements, an’ met at moonrise on a field jes’ back of the graveyard. The seconds measured off ten spaces after we’d shooken hands, an’ we each stepped to our places. Tho’ it was a solemn ’casion, I wasn’t skeered, but Possum was a rollin’ up the whites of his eyes, an’ you could hear his teeth chatter worse than dried corn shuks. Ike Watkins was head second, an’ he stood ’tween us, holdin’ his red bandana in his han’ waitin’ to say the word. ‘Gemplemen, is you ready?’ he says. ‘Let her go, Ike,’ says I. ‘Take aim,’ says he, an’ I pinted the rifle at Possum, an’ callin’ up all the power in me I threw it along the body of the gun plumb ’tween Possum’s eyes jes’ above the bridge of his nose. An’ that was a fair target, cause the bridge of Possum’s nose was a miracle fer size. Possum gave a yell when he felt the strength of that eye, that would a splut yer year-pan in two. An’ in two seconds he was in the worst alpaca fit you ever seen. The seconds acknowledged me the victor by a reckless invention of Providence, they bein’ aware that the adversary wasn’t hit by nary bullet, the rifles bein’ loaded with salt fer fear of mischief. Possum owned up like a man that I was more powerful than him, because of the sufernatral strength in my bad eye.

“Well, I kep’ on prayin’ fer mo’ faith until I got the power in my hands, an’ by layin’ ’em on a sick pusson I could ’lectrocute ’em instantly, an’ thar bad feelin’s would disappear. People got the notion I could pray a pusson right out the grave, an’ my fame spread abroad until I began charging fer my services, explainin’ to my patients that the dead might be raised, but not fer nuthin’, after which I seed a fallin’ off in my poperlarity. Business bein’ purty brief jes’ then, I took Susie an’ moved up Norf, an’ went ter cookin’ on a steamboat. I’ve done mos’ everythin’ in this worl’, honey, as I tol’ you, to git an hones’ livin’ without stealin’ it. An’ I dunno,” added the old man reflectively, as he stroked the gray, stubby fringe on his chin, “I dunno as I’m eny too good ef I got pushed real hard to help myself out; humans is humans, an’ I’ve seen many a well-’tentioned feller settin’ in the caboose when times was hard, an’ the mule mortgaged for full value to three men at once to buy meal an’ bread, an’ hog an’ hominy, an’ terbaccer. But mos’ in ginerally, I’ve got along without silin’ my hands with other people’s prop’ty. Well, honey, they gave me fifteen dollars a munf an’ found, fer bein’ head cook, an’ I paid ten dollars a munf house rent out of that. Things was purty brief, purty brief. Times was more an’ more spurious, an’ it was work yer wits, Abraham Peters, to git a livin’. I jes’ didn’t know whicher way to turn.

“One day I got a telegraph at the other end of the route that the baby was dead an’ no money to pay the undertaker, an’ the ole ’ooman sick in the bed from worryin’. The Lord jes’ seemed to pour his blessin’ down on us in a house full o’ chillun. After Susie’d had twenty I used to pray the Lord to stop blessin’ us that way, ’cause he could see fer himself that too many blessins was a gittin’ to be a nuisance. I cooked the dinner myself that day, bein’ the other cook was ashore, an’ you believe me, I sung an’ I prayed an’ I wrastled fer help in that ole steamboat kitchen down behin’ my bigges’ brass biler where I was kivered from pryin eyes. All of a suddint I felt the power, an’ the Lord spoke to me an’ he said: ‘Git up, Abraham Peters, an’ go out an’ hoodoo the fust man you meet.’ Bless yo, chile, I riz up in a hurry an’ started out, not knowin’ no more than nuthin’ what was meant by that. Fust man I saw when I got on deck was the cap’n; I went up to him, an’ I smiled. I must have been a purty picture with my face all grease an’ tears. I says, not thinkin’ what wurds I was goin’ ter utter: ‘Mornin’, Cap’n; how’s yer corporosity seem to segashiate?’ Cap’n he roared; you could a heard him holler up to Boston. He slapped me on the back, an’ says he: ‘Abe Peters, that’s the gol darndest thing I ever heard.’ With that he hauled out a five-dollar bill an’ gave me, an’ walked off laughin’ fit to kill hisself. By night I had twenty dollars in my pocket, an’ everybody on the boat was a callin’ me ‘corporosity segashiate.’ I’ve used that hoodoo ever since, an’ I ain’t found nary white gempleman can seem to git ’way from it without showing the color of his money.

“One of the owners of the boat took a great liking to me, an’ he says to me one day, says he: ‘Abe, how’d you like to wurk ashore so you could be nearer your family an’ git better pay?’ ‘Like it?’ says I. ‘If you don’t want to pulverize me, don’ make me no sech an offer.’ He laughed a bit, an’ then he says: ‘I’ve got a big buildin’ up Washington Street, an’ I want a trusty man to keep it clean an’ look after the tenants. I’ll give you ten dollars a week.’

“I took off my cap, an’ I truly bowed down to that man, an’ I says: ‘The Lord’s been a wurkin’ on yer heart, Mr. Pierson.’ ‘Maybe he has,’ says he; ‘anyhow, you can pack up an’