"I ain't 'sponsible for that there mule, suh, but I reckon I'm goin' to help you-all put the tent back," he said to me in kindly tone of voice. But getting the side remarks of the disgusted men, and especially our big "axe-man," and the cook, who saw more than double work ahead, Byng's eyes opened wide.
"You kaint help a mule running away. It's bawn in 'em. Anyhow, it won't take long to git the tent up again." He eyed me expectantly and my sympathy went out to him. "I'll do it myself," he added affably.
"Of course it isn't your fault," I replied. "A mule is a mule; that is why he is called by that name."
For a moment I thought the matter would get by amicably, but another flood of profanity from big Jake and aimed directly at the Georgia Cracker brought the tension to the breaking point.
In the code of the turpentine woods it is perfectly proper to swear at a mule no matter who owns it, and a mule expects to be "cussed." But to include the owner, or driver, is an insult that calls for trouble.
Instantly the young stranger stopped his work and stepped back a few paces. There he listened carefully to all that was said, and as long as he could stand it, his steel gray eyes taking on a fire that I well understood. But my men from the North did not grasp the situation. In a voice not so very loud, but plain enough to be heard by all, the Cracker, in a wonderful Southern drawl, began to say something.
"I reckon I kain't fight you-all all at once, but I'll take you-all one at a time and whup the whole bunch of yer." He then glanced over toward me as though expecting a square deal. I gave him a kindly twinkle of encouragement, but his challenge had the effect of quieting matters for a brief period. Then big Jake, who seemed to be in a particularly bad humor, began to snort and swear again.
Jake had long since elected himself boss bruiser of the party, and without contest. We had been in the Dismal Swamp so long and eaten so much quinine that if he had said he was the devil himself, or any other bandit, all hands would have assented. Now they looked to Jake to prove his claims as a bad man.
Jake, thoroughly confident, quit work and swaggered over toward the Cracker. He still gave vent to most insulting tirades. I felt somehow that Jake was recklessly going against an unknown quantity, but I said nothing. If he was well licked once it might make him a better camp fellow.