“Oh!” There was an astonished pause.
“Yes, it's me. I ain't votin' yo' way,” Neb said. “You all kin act fer yo'selves. I know what I'm about.”
“But what's de matter wid you?” Buck Black demanded, rather sharply. “All dis time you been de most anxious one ter do some'n', en now when we got er chance ter act wid judgment en caution, all in a body, en, as Brother Hardcastle say, ter de honor of ou' race, why you up en—”
“Hold on, des keep yo' shirt on!” said Neb, in a queer, tremulous voice. “Gen'men, I ain't placed des zactly de same es you-all is. I don't want ter tek de whole 'sponsibility on my shoulders, en I don't intend to.”
“You are not taking it all on your shoulders, brother,” said the minister, calmly; “we are acting in a body.”
“No, it's all on me,” Neb said. “You said, Buck Black, dat Pete was in de lumber-yard 'hind yo' house. He ain't. You might search ever' stack o' planks en ever' dry-kiln dar, but you wouldn't fin' 'im. He's a cousin er my wife's, en me'n dat boy was good, true friends, en so he come here des now, when you heard my wife call me, an' th'owed hisse'f on my mercy. He's out at my stable now, up in de hay-loft, waitin' fer me ter fetch 'im suppin ter eat, as soon as you all go off. My wife say he's de most pitiful thing dat God ever made, en, gen'men, I'm sorry fer 'im. Law or no law, I'm sorry fer 'im. It's all well enough fer you ter set here in yo' good clothes wid good meals er victuals inside o' you, en know you got er good safe baid ter go ter—it's all well enough fer you ter vote on what is ter be done, but ef you do vote fer it en clap 'im 'hind de bars en he's hung—hung by de neck till he's as stiff es a bone, you'll be helpin' ter do it. Law is one thing when it's law, it's another thing when it ain't fit ter spit on. You all talk jestice, jestice, en you think it would be er powerful fine thing ter prove ter de worl' how honest you all is by handin' dat po' yaller dog over to de law. Put yo'selves in Pete's shoes an' you wouldn't be so easy ter vote yo'selves 'hind de bars. You'd say de bird in de han' is wuth three in de bush, en you'd stay away firm de white man's court-house. De white men say deirselves dat dar ain't no jestice, en dey's right. Carson Dwight is er good lawyer, en he'd fight till he drapped in his tracks, but de State solicitor would rake up enough agin Pete Warren to keep de jury's blood b'ilin'. Whar'd dey git a jury but fum de ranks o' de very men dat's chasin' Pete lak er rabbit now? Whar'd dey git a jury dat ud believe in his innocence when dey kin prove dat he done threatened de daid man? No whar in dis State. No innocent nigger's ever been hung, hein? No innocent nigger's in de chain gang, hein? Huh, dey as thick dar es fleas.”
When Neb had ceased speaking not a voice broke the stillness of the room for several minutes, then the minister said, with a deep-drawn breath: “Well, there is really no harm in looking at all sides of the question. The very view you have taken, Brother Wynn, may be the one that has really kept colored people from being more active in the legal punishment of their race. But it seems to me that it would only be fair, since you say Pete Warren is near, for him to be told of the situation and left to decide for himself.”
“I'm willin' ter do dat, God knows,” said Neb, “en ef y'all say so, I'll fetch 'im here en you kin splain it ter 'im.”
“I'm sure that will be best,” said Hardcastle. “Hurry up. To save time, you might bring his food here—that is, if your wife has not taken it to him.”
“No, she was afeard ter go out dar. I'll mek 'er fetch it up here while I go after him. It may tek time, fer he may be afeard to come in. But ef I tell 'im de grub's here, I bound you he'll come a-hustlin'.”