“Come, boys,” continued Dick, “you all know that this old iron's certain, so give the varmint this chance—it'll please him, and he'll die off all the easier!”
After some persuasion, Dick's request was acceded to, and the parties took their positions. Life hung, for the culprit, by but a thread, and that thread the will of Kelsy. Slowly the latter raised his rifle, while the party, breathless, intently fixed their eyes upon the victim. Dick's hand began to tremble, and his aim became unsteady, for the sickly form of the stranger's wife again seemed to rise and plead for mercy—he rested his rifle on the ground, without the heart to fire; but, in an instant the vision fled, and his eye fell clear upon the countenance of the stranger; a morning ray lighting up his features, exhibited a gleam of mingled triumph, hatred, hope, and revenge—there was no mistaking its dark expression of contending passions. The pity that had almost unnerved Kelsy and saved his foe, vanished, and raising his rifle sudden as thought, the weapon rung out the stranger's knell. As the ball from its muzzle sped through his brain, a wild shriek arose upon the air, and all was again still—they loosened his bonds, and he fell forward, dead!
His remains were consigned to the earth without a tear, even from his companion, to whom the tragedy-had been imparted. His cruelties had long since obliterated from her heart the last spark of early fondness; all she requested, when the grave had closed over him, was to be sent to her friends in Ohio, which was kindly done by the settlers—Dick bestowing upon her his whole stock of fine furs to defray her expenses.
Kelsy set himself down in undisturbed possession of his claim, and Sam, his faithful slave, often points to the small green mound at the edge of the grove, with the remark—
“Dat's Massa Dick's signature to dis land claim—dat is!”
YALLEK PLEDGES; OR, THE FIGHT ABOUT SALLY SPILLMAN.
It aint natral fur a fellar to tell of his gittin' licked, but I must tell you about that thar fight between me and Jess Stout—it war a screamer, by thunder! and ef I did gin in, it warn't in the course of human natur' to do any how else. That gal spontenaceously hankered arter Jess, and besides, he'd piled up the affection in her, by an amazin' long spell of courtin'. I did kinder edge into her likin', and gin to speckelate big on throwin' Jess, but that fight knocked my calculations all to fritters. I'm some in a bar fight, and considerable among panters, but I warn't no whar in that fight with Jess. In course, I'll tell you, boys, so sot yourselves round, and pass along that corn juice.
“You see, every time I come up from Lusiane, I found Jess hangin' round that gal, Sally Spillman, lookin' orful sweet, and a fellar couldn't go near her without risin' his dander—he was jealous as a hen with young chickens. I sot my eyes on her, to find out what Jess saw in her so amazin' inticin', and I swar ef a close examination didn't make me yearn arter her like a weaned yearling. She was all sorts of a gal—thar warn't a sprinklin' too much of her—she stuck out all over jest far enough without cushinin'—had an eye that would make a fellar's heart try to get out of his bosom, and then sich har;—her step was as light as a panter's, and her breath sweet as a prairie flower. In my opinion, the mother of all human natur' warn't an atom slicker model; she desarved the pick of a whole creation, and I jest felt that I was made a purpose for her!