“And I’ve come up to see those poisoners keep away.”
I had seen the man he said was Kelly start and look about him, as if for other enemies; then he stood still nervously, and fidgetted at his gun. Meanwhile the General made quite a speech, apparently thinking the opportunity too good a one to remain unimproved. He took every occasion to heap obloquy upon the head of Kelly, king of the moonshiners; and concluded by lamenting that that “poor white trash” would not dare to show his head in camp while even he, McBride, was there alone.
“Look yar,” shouted Kelly, striding up to the bar of the tent when he had got through, “I’m the man you call King Kelly; an’ I’ve got four stills a-runnin’ within a bit an’ a screech of this yer camp; an’ I kin tell yer it’s deuced lucky yer white-faced, biled-shirted revenue officers stayed down to New Orleans.”
“And I,” said another, “I own a still myself; an’ it ain’t goin’ ter stop up fur no United States Government—though we’re mighty glad to see the Gineral, ez he comes here sociable and pleasant like.”
“And I,” “and I,” “and I;” and three more strode forward, and I noticed a pair of pseudo darkies get behind each one as he moved.
“What’ll yer take ter drink, Gineral?” said Kelly. Quick as a flash, every man had four stout arms about his neck, choking him, and the handcuffs on his wrists. Not a shot was fired; and Kelly and his gang were safely immured in an improvised guardhouse. The General sank back upon his cane-seated chair.
“A pretty job, gentlemen,” said he. “What will you take to drink? None of their pine-top, though,” he added, with a laugh. “Yet, I don’t know as you can hardly blame ’em—corn’s mighty scarce up here.”
“May I trouble you, sir, with a few words in private?” The voice was serious, but familiar, and appertained to Mr. Hampton Raoul.
6.
“I have appealed to you, sir,” said Raoul, when we had abandoned the still quiet camp for the solitude of the forest, “to demand that which every gentleman has the right to ask of every other.”