Jist then in comes Hank and old Zibe.
Hank’s hands are tied behind him, there’s a handkerchief around his eyes, and Zibe is proddin’ him with a gun. He makes Hank set down in a chair, and then he turns to Limpy.
“So yo’re here, eh? Playin’ the game my way, eh?”
Limpy begins to wipe his eyes and beller.
“I have been a proud man,” he states emphatic, “but likker brought me to this. I have bited the hand that fed me. I sold my soul for gin, Simon Legree. Yes, I will go in with you, even to the depths of hell.”
“Ah, ha-a-a-a-a!” sneers Zibe. “Well, we win, Lord Worthington. Without Howard Chesterfield that horse never can win—and there sets Howard Chesterfield. We hold him until after the race. He will be disgraced in the eyes of his sweetheart, who will marry me. Ah, ha-a-a-a-a!”
I swear I never did see Susie, until there she was on the stage, with a two-barrel shotgun in her hands, pointin’ it at Zibe.
“Hands up, you foul beast,” says she, and Zibe puts up his hands.
“You think his sweetheart will marry you, Simon Legree? Bah! If you was the last man in the world, I wouldn’t marry you. Uncle Tom, will you take ropes and bind these foul vultures?”
Well, I shore tied ’em up tight. Susie took the ropes off Hank and he stood up straight and looked down at her.