“They’re a-talkin’ to yer, Bill,” resumed Caney, of Texas, “an’ they’re the convincenist talkers I ever seed.”
The desperado turned his eyes away; but Caney moved the child so its bleeding feet were still before its father’s eyes.
The remaining men all retired beneath the shadow of the tree, for the tender little feet were talking to them, too, and they were ashamed of the results.
Suddenly Bowney uttered a deep groan.
“’Tain’t no use a-tryin’,” said he, in a resigned tone. “Everybody’ll be down on me, an’ after all I’ve done, too! But yer ken hev their names, curse yer!”
The woman went into hysterics; the children cried; Caney, of Texas, ejaculated, “Bully!” and then kissed the poor little bruised feet.
The New Englander fervently exclaimed, “Thank God!”
“I’ll answer fur him till we get ’em,” said Caney, after the major had written down the names Bowney gave him; “an’,” continued Caney, “somebody git the rest of these young uns an’ ther mother to my cabin powerful quick. Good Lord, don’t I jist wish they wuz boys! I’d adopt the hull family.”
The court informally adjourned sine die, but had so many meetings afterward at the same place to dispose of Bowney’s accomplices, that his freedom was considered fairly purchased, and he and his family were located a good way from the scenes of his most noted exploits.
