“Do I?” queried the other with a grim smile. “Well here’s another nice leetle caper o’ theirs: Bud Wilson’s wife writ home to her folks in Massachusetts detailin’ some o’ the facts concernin’ the sackin’ o Osawatamie, an’ addin’ a few words in her own language in comments, etc., on certain actions o’ the Territory militia (Missouri roughs), an’ her folks let the newspapers have the whole story. My soul! The Rangers came over from this side under that devil, Bill Thomson, an’ one mornin’ when Bud was gone they went to the house an’ took his ol’ woman inter the woods an’ pulled her tongue out as far as possible an’ tide it to a sapling. Well, I won’t pain yer feelin’s by recountering the rest o’ the po’ critter’s sufferin’s, but they was the mos’ dreadfulles’ that you can imagine, until she mercifully gave up the ghos’ and ex-pired. How’s that strike you?”
“My God!” exclaimed Warren, shuddering with horror.
“Here’s another: These same Kickapoo Rangers, Bill Thomson captaing, marched to Leavenworth an’ took Capt. R. P. Brown (no relation to Capt. John Brown) prisoner, he surrenderin’ himself and men on certain conditions. Immejuntly the terms of that surrender was violated. One young feller was knocked down, an’ a Ranger was goin’ to cut him with his hatchet (Thomson has ’em all carry hatchets so as to skulp the foe like Injuns do), and Capt. Brown prevented him. After that they re—moved the Captaing up to Easton an’ put him in a separate buildin’ away from his men. Then the devils rushed on him an’ beat him to the floor an’ cut him in the head with their hatchets, one wound bein’ many inches long an’ enterin’ the brain. The gallant Captaing was at the mercy of his enemies then, an’ they jumped on him an’ kicked him. Desperately wounded, he still lived; an’ as they kicked him, he said, ‘Don’t abuse me; it is useless; I am dying.’ Then one of the wretches—Bill himself—leaned over the posterate man an’ squirted terbacco juice into his eyes. Them’s our leetle ways o’ doin’ things in free Ameriky, Mr. Britisher, when other folks talks too free or dares to have opinions o’ thar own without askin’ our permission to so think contrairy agin us. Yes, sir, I’m a John Brown man. I go with Brown because I can do as I please—more in-dependent-like—than as if I was with Jim Lane, ’though I’ll low Lane’s gittin’ in some fine work, an’ we’ll swing Kansas inter line as a free State quicker’n scat when we git down to bisiness. It’s these things brings me on this side noysterin’ roun’ lookin’ fer em-ployment.”
“I’m a pretty good shot, Mr. Maybee, and after I finish this matter for the firm, I should like nothing better than to put myself and my pistols at the disposal of Mr. Brown,” said Warren sternly, with flashing eyes.
Mr. Maybee ejected a small stream of tobacco juice from his mouth and smoothed the end of the board he was whittling, to his entire satisfaction, before replying.
“Volunteers is ac-ceptable, certainly, ef they brings weapins and ammunition. This is goin’ to be no child’s play. The oppersite party is strong in cussedness; on our side, we know we’re right, an’ we’ve made up our minds to die right on the spot, but never to yield. Still, we’re not advertisin’ our idees on the housetops, my friend; di-plomacy, says I an’ all of us, is an ef-fectooal weapin’ in many cases, therefore I advocate that we perceed to di-plomate—kin’ o’ play ’roun’ a spell, an’ feel the t’other side. I’ll consider it an honor to nesheate you any time you feel too sot, into the ranks of the Free Soilers, John Brown, captaing. Now, what’s the business you wanted to lay befo’ me?”
Thoroughly aroused by Maybee’s words and trembling with excitement, Warren briefly related his unexpected meeting with Judah, and the peril of the captives. Mr. Maybee listened in amazement, chewing and spitting tobacco juice like an automaton in his excitement, with many ejaculations of surprise: “Sho now! Want ter know!” “That ar Thomson, too! Dad gum ’im fer an onery skunk! I’ve jes’ got to kill ’im; can’t help it! He hung three of our best men down to Oscaloosa two weeks ago, tortured ’em fus’ tho’. Cu’rous how things does happen in this sinful wurl!”
“They mus’ be rescued right off! right off!” he said, when Warren had finished. “We must git ’em on the Underground railroad this night. You go with the boat an’ I’ll cut across country an’ com—moonicate with Parson Steward. We’ve got a good hour’s start of the vessel, an’ there’ll be sand-bars to cross,—an’,—O Lord, ef we’d only git such a thunder storm as we had the night White Eagle was murdered, it’d be the makin’ of this expe—dition. It’s been threat’ning all afternoon. Lord, let her come.”
Briefly they arranged their plans.
“Tell Judah to git Thomson drunk; put somethin’ in the liquor, if necess’ry, then git ashore somehow at Weston. I’ll meet you there with hosses an’ we’ll put fer Steward’s shack. Ef once he gits the gal in his clutches, even Bill Thomson won’t git her agin.”