“I don’t ask any of ’em any odds now. When I get my militia fully organized, I’m going to make a move that will make things crack. And old Krafton will come down too. He thinks he’s driving, and he’s just holding the end of the reins.”
“I don’t count so much on your militia as I do on your friends. I know these people, and I tell you, you can’t keep ’em down with niggers. If you try that you’ll have a bust up ’t will blow you—somewhere you won’t want to be,” cautioned Still. “I never was so much in favor of that militia business as you was. Comes to a fight, the whites will beat every time—and it costs too much. My taxes this year’ll be——”
Leech frowned.
“Your taxes! If it hadn’t been for high taxes I’d like to know where you’d been. You’re always talkin’ about knowin’ these people. You’re afraid of ’em. I’m not. I suppose it’s natural; we’ve whipped you.”
There was a sudden lower in Still’s eye at the sneer.
“You’re always talkin’ about havin’ whipped us. You ain’t whipped us so much,” he growled. “If you ain’t afraid of ’em, whyn’t you take up what Steve Allen said to you t’other day when he told you he’d be Governor before you was, and called you—ur worse than Krafton? He’s given you chances enough.”
“You wait, and you’ll see how I’ll take it up. I’ll take him up. I’ve got the government behind me, and when I’m Governor and get a judge such as I want, you’ll see things working even enough.”
“Well, ’twon’t do for us to quarrel, Major. We’re like two steers yoked together,” Still said, conciliatorily. “Only don’t go too fast at first—or you may break your team down before you git anywhere near where you want to go.” When Still was alone with his son after this interview he told him that Leech was in danger of ruining everything.
“He’s gittin’ sp’iled. We must keep the brakes on him or he’ll bust the wagon all to pieces. If he gits up too fast he won’t remember me and you,” observed Mr. Still. “Where would I be now if I hadn’t gone a little keerful?”
“Careful,” corrected his son, superciliously.