The jug was forthcoming.
"Now, then," continued Uncle Jake, removing the corn-cob stopper, "this looks like home, sweet home, ez I may say. It does, certain an' shore. None to jine me? Well, well! Times change an' change, but the jug is company for one. So be it. Ez St. Paul says, cleave nigh unto that which is good. I'm foreswore not to feel lonesome tell I go to the gallows. Friends! you uv got my good wishes, one an' all!"
"What's a-gwine on?" asked Poteet.
"The same," responded Uncle Jake, after swallowing his dram. "Allers the same. Wickedness pervails wellnigh unto hit's own jestiflcation. I uv seed sights! You all know the divers besettings wher'by Jackson Ricks wuz took off this season gone—murdered I may say, in the teeth of the law an' good govunment. Sirs! I sot by an' seed his besetters go scotch-free."
"Ah!"
The exclamation came from Teague Poteet.
"Yes, sirs! yes, friends!" continued Uncle Jake, closing his eyes and tilting his chair back. "Even so. Nuther does I boast ez becometh the fibble-minded. They hurried an' skurried me forth an' hence, to mount upon the witness stan' an' relate the deed. No deniance did I make. Ez St. Paul says, sin, takin' occasion by the commandment, worked in me all manner of conspicuessence. I told 'em what these here eyes had seed.
"They errayed me before jedge an' jury," Uncle Jake went on, patting the jug affectionately, "an' I bowed my howdies. 'Gen-termun friends,' s' I, 'foller me close't, bekaze I'm a-givin' you but the truth, stupendous though it be. Ef you thes but name the word,' s' I, 'I'll take an' lay my han' upon the men that done this unrighteousness, for they stan' no furder than yon piller,' s' I. 'Them men,' s' I, 'surroundered the house of Jackson Ricks, gentermun friends, he bein' a member of Friendship Church, an' called 'im forth wi' the ashoreance of Satan an' the intents of evil,' s' I; 'an' ole en decrippled ez he wuz, they shot 'im down—them men at yon piller,' s' I, 'ere he could but raise his trimblin' han' in supplication; an' the boldest of 'em dast not to face me here an' say nay,' s' I."
"An' they uv cler'd the men what kilt pore Jackson Ricks!" said Teague, rubbing his grizzled chin.
"Ez clean an' ez cle'r ez the pa'm er my han'," replied Uncle Jake, with emphasis.