"Not thar, Cunnel," cried the native; "they're inter th' shed;" and he started to lead the way to the "spirit-house."
"Not now, Barnes," I said, putting my hand on his arm: "leave him alone for a little while. He is feeling badly, and we'd better not disturb him just yet."
The native motioned me to a seat on a rosin-barrel, as he replied:
"Wal, he 'pears ter—thet's a fact, and he orter. D——d ef it arn't wicked to use niggers like cattle, as he do."
"I don't think he means to ill-treat them—he's a kind-hearted man."
"Wal, he ar sort o' so; but he's left ev'ry thing ter thet d——d overseer uv his'n. I wudn't ha' trusted him to feed my hogs."
"Hogs!" I exclaimed, laughing; "I supposed you didn't feed hogs in these diggins. I supposed you 'let 'em run.'"
"I doant; an' I've got th' tallest porkys round har."
"I've been told that they get a good living in the woods."
"Wal, p'r'aps the' du jest make eout ter live thar; but my ole 'oman likes 'em ter hum—they clean up a place like—eat up all th' leavin's, an' give th' young nigs suthin' ter du."