“I done forgit de gent’man’s name.”
“The gentlemen you are voting for are Leech and Nicholas Ash,” said Steve.
“Marse Steve, you know dey ain’ no gent’mens,” said the old fellow, undisturbed by the fact that Leech was present.
“Uncle Tom, you know something, anyhow,” said Steve, enjoying the Provost’s discomfiture.
The only white man of any note in the upper end of the county who took the new “ironclad” oath was Hiram Still. Andy Stamper met him after Hiram had voted. Still tried to dodge him.
“Don’t run, Hiram,” said the little Sergeant, contemptuously, “I ain’t a going to hurt ye. The war’s over. If I had known at the time you was givin’ the Yanks information, I might ’a’ done it once—and I would advise you, Hiram, never to give ’em too much information about me now. You’ve already giv’ ’em too much once about me. See there?” He stretched out his arm and showed a purple mark on his wrist. It was the scar that had been left by the handcuff when he was arrested for the riot at Deal’s. “It won’t come out. You understand?” The little fellow’s eyes shot at the renegade so piercing a glance that Still cowered and muttered that he had nothing to do with him one way or another.
“Maybe, if you didn’t give no aid and comfort to the rebels you’d like to give me back that little piece of paper you took from my old mother to secure the price of that horse you let me have to go back in the army?” drawled Stamper, while one or two onlookers laughed.
The renegade made his escape as quickly as possible.
Still’s reply to the contempt that was visited on him was to bring suit on the bonds he held. Leech was his counsel. One of the first suits was against Andy Stamper. Andy was promptly sold out under the deed which had been given during the war; the place was bought by Still, and Andy and Delia rented another little house. This was only the beginning, however.