The negro implored mercy. "Marster, ez de Lawd is my jedge, I ain't guilty. I ain't been er good man—I 'knowledges dat, but dis time I ain't guilty."
"Hold on," Jasper demanded, and the women, standing behind him, murmured commendation of his course. Tom and Jim stood apart, in positions of advantage in the event that there should be a fight. "Hold on," Starbuck repeated, speaking to the father of the two young men. "You must be a newcomer in these here parts, or you would have held on at the first command. Don't reckon you know me."
"I don't know you, but I know my own business. My name is Sanderson, and I am from North Caroliny, and we air goin' to whup this nigger within a inch of his life or know the reason why."
"All right," said Jasper, taking off his hat and scratching his head. "That is, if I don't give you the reason why. Thar happens to be a reason. But befo' I git down to it, let me ask what this po' devil's done."
The negro broke out with fresh imploration. "Ole marster, save me. I ain't nuthin' on dis big yearth—dar ain't no way fur me ter be no count. De Lawd ain't gib me whut he has you folks. He has put me yeah ter run like er rabbit wheneber I sees er white man er comin', an' I do hopes you take my part. I'll tell you whut he 'cuze me erbout. I wuz er comin' laung de road, an' I yeard a dog yelp, an' I come ter de dog er minit later an' he lay dar in de road wid his head mashed. I wuz er lookin' at de po' thing when up come deze men an' 'cuzed me er killin' him; but old marster, let me tell you suthin': dar's mighty few niggers dat eber kills er dog, caze de dog an' de nigger so close ter de yearth da's friends. I didn't kill de dog."
"Mister," said Sanderson, "I mout come yo' way a thousand times and I never would interfere with you, and my advice to you now is, don't interfere with me. You spoke of me not knowin' you. Wall, you don't know me, nuther."
"Jasper," Margaret exclaimed, "that's a threat, an' don't you let the fack that us women folks air here stand in yo' way."
"No," cried Mrs. Mayfield, "we will all fight to protect this poor creature."
Something gleamed in Lou's hand. It was a penknife. She said nothing, but she stepped forward, the spirit of vengeance come out of the night; but the old man touched her on the arm and said: "Little sweetheart, you can't find no wild vines to dig up here with yo' knife."
"No," said Tom, "let me take it," and whispering, he added, "One word from you and I will cut his throat. But you must be still."