When the exhibition was over, the stranger turned to the three men who were especially invited and said:
“I’m much obleeged to you niggers fer comin’ out to de show. I would like to walk back to town wid you-alls, but I ain’t gwine dat way.”
“You shore is a shooter, brudder!” Skeeter exclaimed. “Ef you ain’t gwine our way, us’ll see you later.”
As the three walked back to town, Shin said thoughtfully:
“Skeeter, I think you wus right when you said not to hab no shootin’ scrape about Whiffle. De way I feels now, ef dat Stranger nigger is gwine shoot fer my wife, he kin jes’ take her along ’thout no good objections from me!”
VI
“Looky here, Skeeter,” Vinegar Atts announced, when they got back to the Hen-Scratch saloon. “Somepin is got to be did fer Shin Bone. Us cain’t let dat Stranger run off wid Shin’s wife. It’s ag’in’ conscience an’ religion.”
“How we gwine chase him?” Skeeter asked, glancing pityingly at Shin’s gloomy face. “Skeeter cain’t think up no scheme to apply to him. He don’t ’pear to be skeart to shoot it out wid nobody.”
“Dar is somepin or yuther dat eve’y nigger in de worl’ is skeart of, fellers,” Vinegar declared. “Less find out whut dat coon’s pertickler skeer is, an’ put it on him.”
“How we gwine find out?” Shin asked.