Life has few charms for
him; death would not be unwelcome.
The tedious journey, and disappointment at seeing the old man's
resolution, has excited Romescos' ire. "He's an old rack-not worth
much, but he doesn't seem like Kemp's old saw-horse," Romescos
remarks to Bengal, as his hawk eye scans the old man perched among
the cedar branches. They are not more than forty yards apart, and
within speaking distance. Bengal, less excited, thinks it better to
secure the old "coon" without letting the dogs taste of him.
"They'll only hold him with a firm grip, when he dismounts, and swim
him safe back," grumblingly returns Romescos. "Now! old
nig"-Romescos shouts at the top of his voice, directing himself to
the old man-"just trot back here-come along!"
The old man shakes his head, and raises his hands, as if pleading
for mercy.
"You won't, eh?" returns the angry man, raising his rifle in an
attitude of preparation. Bengal reminds Romescos that his horse is
not accustomed to firing from the saddle.
"I will larn him, then," is the reply.
"Mas'r," says Bob, putting out his hand and uncovering his bald
head, "I can harm no white man. Let me live where 'um is, and die
where 'um is."
"None o' that ar kind o' nigger talk;--just put it back here, or
ye'll get a plug or two out o' this long Bill." (He points to his
rifle.) "Ye'll come down out of that-by heavens you will!"
"Wing him; don't shoot the fool!" suggests Bengal, as the old man,
pleading with his pursuers, winds his body half round the tree.
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