“Someone you would probably rather not meet at this moment, but since you have appeared upon the scene so opportunely I think we might as well come to an understanding at once, and settle some scores.”
“I ain’t got no scores to settle with you, but I have with that little demon, an’ by gosh she’ll know it, when I’ve done with her! Why that young ’un has just smashed me over the head with her umbril, I tell ye. There it is, if ye don’t believe what I’m a tellin’ ye. I’m goin’ ter have the law on her and on her Ma, I tell ye, an’ I call you three men ter witness the state I’m in. I’ll bring suit agin’ her fer big damages—that’s what I’ll do. Look at my nose!”
As he ceased his tirade Jabe removed his handkerchief from the injured member. At the sight of it one of the men broke into a loud guffaw. Certainly, for a “weaker vessel” Jean had compassed considerable. That nose was about the size of two ordinary noses. Mr. Stuyvesant regarded it for a moment, his face perfectly sober, then asked with apparent concern:
“And this little girl hit you such a blow as that?”
Poor little Jean began to tremble in her boots. Were the tables about to turn upon her? Even Anthony Wayne’s spirit, when harbored in such a tiny body could hardly brave that. The Fletcher’s groom who stood just behind her watched her closely. Now and again he gave a nod indicative of his approval.
“Yes she did. She drew off and struck me slam in the face with her umbril.,” averred Jabe.
“Had you struck her? Did she strike in self-defense?” Mr. Stuyvesant gave a significant look over Jabe’s head straight into the groom’s eyes when he asked this question. The response was the slightest nod of comprehension.
“Strike her? No,” roared Jabe. “I hadn’t teched her. I was a-sittin’ there sortin’ out my turnips ’s peaceful ’s any man in this town, when that little rip comes ’long and tells me I must go get an old horse out ’en a ditch: that old skate there that’s boun’ ter die any how, an’ ought ter a-died long ago. I told her ter clear out an’ mind her own business that I hoped the horse would die, an’ that’s what I’d turned him out to do. Then she drew off an’ whacked me.”
“Just because you stated in just so many words that you meant to get rid of the old horse and had turned him out to die on the roadside. Is that why she struck you?”
Had Jabe been a little calmer he might have been aware of a change in Hadyn Stuyvesant’s expression and his tone of voice, but men wild with rage are rarely close observers.