"But he does," the white man replied, swinging his lantern toward the negro. "Gabe Little lives here."
"That you, Gabe?" Taylor asked.
"Yas, whut de white folks has left o' me."
"All right. You are well enough acquainted with me to know that I wouldn't break a lock——"
"But you have, sir," the white man insisted.
"Not exactly; but I have drawn the staple. By the way, whose dog is this?" The dog had jumped out and was frisking about Taylor's legs. "It's a setter and doesn't belong to you, Gabe."
"Dat's fur me ter say, sah," the negro sullenly replied.
"That so? Well, I guess I'll keep him until I find out his owner."
"That's neither here nor there!" the white man almost shouted. "The question is, what right have you got to go to a man's house at night and break his lock?"
"None, I tell you; and I'm not only willing to pay all damages, but will answer to the law."