He reaches it in time to see Richard Darke set upon a horse, and conducted away from the place, with a man on each side, guarding him. All know that he goes a prisoner.
With a sense of relief, Blue Bill hastens back to his own domicile, where lie communicates what has happened to the wife anxiously waiting.
“Phoebe, gal,” he adds, in a congratulatory whisper, “dar ain’t no longer so much reezun for us to hab fear. I see Sime Woodley mong de men; and dis nigger know dat he’ll gub me his purtecshun, whatsomever I do. So I’se jess made up my mind to make a clean bress ob de hul ting, and tell what I heern an’ see, besides deliverin’ up boaf dat letter an’ picter. What’s yar view ob de matter? Peak plain, and doan be noways mealy-moufed ’bout it.”
“My views is den, for de tellin’ ob de troof. Ole Eph Darke may flog us till dar ain’t a bit o’ skin left upon our bare backs. I’ll take my share ob de ’sponsibility, an a full half ob de noggin’. Yes, Bill, I’se willin’ to do dat. But let de troof be tole—de whole troof, an’ nuffin but de troof.”
“Den it shall be did. Phoebe, you’s a darlin’. Kiss me, ole gal. If need be, we’ll boaf die togedder.”
And their two black faces come in contact, as also their bosoms; both beating with a humanity that might shame whiter skins.