“Why, mammy, the end of your nose is skinned. How did that come?”
She sent out the sort of whole-hearted peal of laughter which God had vouchsafed in its perfection to none but the happy angels in heaven and the bruised and broken black slave on the earth, and said:
“Dad fetch dat duel, I be’n in it myself.”
“Gracious! did a bullet do that?”
“Yassir, you bet it did!”
“Well, I declare! Why, how did that happen?”
“Happened dis-away. I ’uz a-sett’n’ here kinder dozin’ in de dark, en che-bang! goes a gun, right out dah. I skips along out towards t’other end o’ de house to see what’s gwyne on, en stops by de ole winder on de side towards Pudd’nhead Wilson’s house dat ain’t got no sash in it,—but dey ain’t none of ’em got any sashes, fur as dat’s concerned,—en I stood dah in de dark en look out, en dar in de moonlight, right down under me ’uz one o’ de twins a-cussin’—not much, but jist a-cussin’ soft—it ’uz de brown one dat ’uz cussin’, ’ca’se he ’uz hit in de shoulder. En Doctor Claypool he ’uz a-workin’ at him, en Pudd’nhead Wilson he ’uz a-he’pin’, en ole Jedge Driscoll en Pem Howard ’uz a-standin’ out yonder a little piece waitin’ for ’em to git ready agin. En treckly dey squared off en give de word, en bang-bang went de pistols, en de twin he say, ‘Ouch!’—hit him on de han’ dis time,—en I hear dat same bullet go spat! ag’in, de logs under de winder; en de nex’ time dey shoot, de twin say, ‘Ouch!’ ag’in, en I done it too, ’ca’se de bullet glance’ on his cheek-bone en skip up here en glance on de side o’ de winder en whiz right acrost my face en tuck de hide off’n my nose—why, if I’d ’a’ be’n jist a inch or a inch en a half furder ’t would ’a’ tuck de whole nose en disfiggered me. Here’s de bullet; I hunted her up.”
“Did you stand there all the time?”
“Dat’s a question to ask, ain’t it? What else would I do? Does I git a chance to see a duel every day?”
“Why, you were right in range! Weren’t you afraid?”