"After I get this money, and get all ready to start, I'm going to settle up matters with Levi and that nigger before I go. I expect I shall kill that nigger if I ever see him again."
"Shall you? Then now's your time!" yelled Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier, as he sprang from his covert, and rushed upon his enemy.
Dock Vincent was startled, as a braver man than he might have been under such circumstances; but the steward did not permit him to recover his self-possession. With an oak stick he carried in his hand, he dealt a heavy blow upon the head of the villain. But his cranium seemed to be made of more solid material than his African assailant's, for he attempted to rise, when the steward repeated the stroke so effectually that he lay still on the ground.
"Don't! Don't!" pleaded Mr. Fairfield, terrified by the tragic event. "Don't tech him agin. Let him be."
But Dock was not deprived of his consciousness even by the severe blows he had received, and again he attempted to rise.
"Lay still! If you don't there'll be a dead man not far from here," said the steward, as he took his revolver from his pocket.
Dock saw it, and dared not move.
"Don't tech him no more. Let him go now."
"Not if I know it! Allow me to insinuate, in the most direct manner possible, that this man is my prisoner; and if he don't spend the rest of his days in the state prison, it will be an outrage upon humanity," added the steward.
"Don't tech him no more. Let him go. I'll give you twenty-five cents if you will," whined the miser, who had to open his heart very wide to make this liberal offer.