Dar's forty tousand
dollars, if dar's a cent, at dat festibal: gals more'n half white, men
dat can read an' preach: de cream of Kent County. See me! see me!"
"And not a suspicion of our coming?"
"See me! O see me!" hoarsely said the negro; "innercent as de unborn.
To-night's deir las' night!"
Levin trembled as these merciless words reached his ears, but Owen Daw
seemed to forget his affront at the tidings, and chuckled to Levin as
they trotted away:
"Bet you I git a better nigger nor you!"
"Oh, shame, Owen Daw! Your mother was saved to-day from bein' turned out
of doors by my pity. Think of robbin' these niggers of their freedom!
What have they done?"
"Been niggers!" exclaimed Owen Daw. "That's enough!"
"What will you do, Owen, to help your poor mother?"
"Wait till I git big enough, bedad, an' kill ole Jake Cannon for this
day's work."
As they rode on they came to the man called Sorden, riding as the guide
to the invading column, a person of more genteel address than any
beneath Van Dorn, and young, pliable, and frolicking.
"My skin!" he said. "Now, boys, Van Dorn oughtn't had to brung you.
You're too sniptious for this rough work. I love the Captain better than
I ever loved A male, but he oughtn't to spile boys."
"Van Dorn told me to come," Owen Daw cried. "I'm big enough to buck a
nigger."
"I love him better than I ever loved A male," said Sorden,
apologetically.
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