Uncle Bill stopped and scratched his head.
“I’d do mighty nigh anything to please you, Miss Big Sue, but I can’ suffer a hog any more’n I have to. I got to knock Jeems senseless, or I couldn’ kill em at all. Me an’ Jeems is been friends too long.”
“For Gawd’s sake don’ be so chicken-hearted.”
“I ain’ chicken-hearted, but I couldn’ stan’ to suffer Jeems whilst he was a-dyin’. No. Come on, Breeze. Le’s get dis killin’ over wid!”
Jeems’ black snout showed through a crack, and his short impatient grunts meant he was hungry, for Breeze had not fed him since yesterday noon. Breeze’s heart ached for his friend. How could Uncle Bill bear to knock Jeems in the head with that ax, while the poor beast’s eyes gazed up with such trustful friendliness!
“Jeems, old man! You’ time is out, son. Git ready to meet you’ Gawd!” Uncle Bill’s voice was sad.
Jeems held his fat face up, straining to see them better, for his eyes, almost closed with fat, were hampered by ears flapping over them. Poor Jeems!
Uncle Bill had his coat off, and his rolled-up shirt-sleeves showed the play of his powerful sinews under the skin. The ax rose high in the air, then leaped out and tightened, as Uncle Bill brought it down with a thud on Jeems’ forehead. The squeal in the hog’s throat changed to a strangled gurgle. The short forelegs staggered and gave way. The great heavy body fell sidewise to the ground. But Uncle Bill was already astride it with his knife’s bare blade ready.
A quick sharp stick in the neck brought a spurt of blood which a deeper thrust turned to a stream. Red, warm with life, its steam rising like smoke in the cool sunshiny air, Jeems’ blood poured out and wasted in the filth of his pen, until Big Sue’s cries brought Breeze to his senses.
“Great Gawd, Breeze! Ketch dat blood! You standin’ like a fool lettin’ em waste! I good mind to kill you! Blood puddin’ is de best o’ de hog-killin’!”