“You are perhaps not aware, Mr Stump,” rejoins the Regulator Chief, in a calm voice, “of what we’ve just been hearing?”
“What hev ye been hearin’?”
“Evidence to the contrary of what you assert. We have proof, not only that there was bad blood between Gerald and young Poindexter, but that a quarrel took place on the very night—”
“Who sez thet, Sam Manly?”
“I say it,” answers Calhoun, stepping a little forward, so as to be seen by Stump.
“O, you it air, Mister Cash Calhoun! You know thur war bad blood atween ’em? You seed the quarrel ye speak o’?”
“I haven’t said that I saw it, Zeb Stump. And what’s more I’m not going to stand any cross-questioning by you. I have given my evidence, to those who have the right to hear it; and that’s enough. I think, gentlemen, you’re satisfied as to the verdict. I don’t see why this old fool should interrupt—”
“Ole fool!” echoes the hunter, with a screech; “Ole fool! Hell an herrikins! Ye call me an ole fool? By the eturnal God! ye’ll live to take back that speech, or my name aint Zeblun Stump, o’ Kaintucky. Ne’er a mind now; thur’s a time for everythin’, an yur time may come, Mister Cash Calhoun, sooner than ye surspecks it.”
“As for a quarrel atween Henry Peintdexter an the young fellur hyur,” continues Zeb, addressing himself to the Regulator Chief, “I don’t believe a word on’t; nor won’t, so long’s thur’s no better proof than his palaverin’. From what this chile knows, it don’t stan’ to reezun. Ye say ye’ve got new facks? So’ve I too. Facks I reck’n thet’ll go a good way torst explicatin o’ this mysteerus bizness, twisted up as it air.”
“What facts?” demands the Regulator Chief. “Let’s hear them, Stump.”