"Yes, suh, I'll teck keer of him sure. I'll match him against any dawg in dthis town—he can kill dthat dawg of dthat yaller nigger's——"
"No, if you put him in a fight, I'll kill you the first time I see you—d'you hear?"
"Yes, suh—I ain' gwine put him in no fight. But ef he gits in a fight—you know he's a mighty high-spirited dawg—he don' like dawgs to come nosin' roun' him. Hit sort o' aggrivates him. An' ef he should——?"
"I'll whip you as sure as you live——"
"Jes' ef he should?"
"Yes—if you let him."
"No, suh, I ain' gwine let him. You lef him wid me."
And though I knew that he was lying, I was content to leave the dog with him; for I was obliged to leave him with someone, and I knew he loved this dog and hoped my threat would, at least, keep him from anything that might hurt him.
I drifted out to the Club later and casually dropped the information that I was going away. I do not think it made much impression on my friends there—in fact, I hardly think they took the information seriously. They were a kindly lot, but took life and me lightly.
When I left town at midnight, the rain was pouring down and there was no one at the dreary station to see me off but Jeams and Dix, and as the train pulled out I stood on the platform to say good-by to Jeams, who was waving his right hand sadly, while with the other he gripped the collar of the dejected Dix who, with his eyes on me, struggled spasmodically and viciously.