The negro only flinched from the kicks, then rolled farther over on his side and mumbled through a snore.
“Couldn't hear it thunder,” said Berry reassured. “Well, let's get away from here.”
“You bet!” said Van Wallace fervently. “No use takin' chances by bein' caught talkin' together. Anyhow, they'll be ringing the startin' bell in a minute or two.”
“Don't forget, now!” counseled Berry as Wallace started off, making by a roundabout and devious way for his own stable, where Minnie May, hitched to her sulky and with her legs bandaged, was being walked back and forth by a stable boy.
“Don't you worry; I won't!” said Wallace; and Berry grinned joyously and vanished in the opposite direction, behind the handy feedshed.
On the instant that both of them disappeared Judge Priest's Jeff rose to his feet, magically changing from a drunken darky to an alert and flying black Mercury. His feet hardly hit the high places as he streaked it for the grandstand—looking for Judge Priest as hard as he could look.
Nearly there he ran into Captain Buck Owings. Captain Buck Owings was a quiet, grayish man, who from time to time in the course of a busy life as a steamboat pilot and master had had occasion to shoot at or into divers persons. Captain Buck Owings had a magnificent capacity for attending strictly to his own business and not allowing anybody else to attend to it. He was commonly classified as dangerous when irritated—and tolerably easy to irritate.
“Cap'n Buck! Cap'n Buck!” sputtered
Jeff, so excited that he stuttered. “P-please, suh, is you seen my boss—Jedge Priest? I suttinly must see him right away. This here next heat is goin' to be thro wed.”
It was rarely that Captain Buck Owings raised his voice above a low, deliberate drawl. He raised it a trifle now.