You've h'ard the description, and (glancing at Joe, and
smiling) you know the _conditions_ of the sale. A thousand dollars is
bid for the girl, Lucy Selma; do I hear any more? Talk quick, gentlemen;
I shan't dwell on this lot; so speak up, if you've anything to say. One
thousand once--one thousand twice--one thousand third and last call. Do
I hear any more?' A pause of a moment. 'Last call, gentlemen.
Going--g-o-i-n-g--go--'
The word was unfinished; the hammer was descending, when a voice called
out:
'Two thousand!'
'Whose bid is that?' cried Joe, striding across the bench, the glare of
a hyena in his eyes.
'Mine, sir!' said the man, with a look of sudden surprise. His face was
shaded by a broad-brimmed Panama hat, and his hair and whiskers were
dyed, but there was no mistaking his large, eagle nose, his sharp,
pointed chin, and his rat-trap of a mouth. It was Hallet! Springing upon
a bench near by, I cried out:
'John Hallet, withdraw that bid, or your time has come! I warn you. You
cannot leave this place alive!'
He gave me a quick, startled look--the look of a thief caught in the
act--but said nothing.
'Who is he?' cried a dozen voices.
'A Yankee nigger-trader! A man that seduced and murdered the woman who
should have been his wife; that cast out and starved his own child, and
now would debauch this poor girl, who is to marry his only son!'
'Wall, he _ar_ a han'some critter.' ''Bout like th' Yankees gin'rally.'
'Clar him out!' cried several voices.
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