"Wateh," whispered the big lips, "wateh."
John threw his father's bridle back, galloped through a gate, and came with a gourd full.
"Gimme quick, son, he's swoonin' away." The draught brought back some life.
"Shan't I get a doctor, father?"
"Tain't a bit of use, son."
"No," moaned the negro. "I'm gwine fasteh dan docto's kin come. I'm in de deep watehs. Gwine to meet my Lawd Jesus. Good-by, wife; good-by, chillun. Oh, Jedge March, dey shot me in pyo devilment. I was jist lookin' out fo' my boy. Dey was comin' in to town an dey sees me, an awdehs me to halt, an' 'stid o' dat I runs, thinkin' that'd suit 'em jist as well. Oh, Lawd!—Oh, Lawd! Oh!" He stared into the Judge's face, a great pain heaved him slowly, his eyes set, and all was over. A single sob burst from the boy as he gazed on the dark, dead features. The Judge hasted to mount.
"Now, son, I got to get right into town. But you see now, you betteh go along back to yo' motheh, don't you?"
"I'm goin' with you."