it would now and then break out in a distant rumble, so to speak,
in the form of muttered ejaculations. One of these was, “Ain’t nigger
enough in him to show in his fingernails, en dat takes mighty little–
yit dey’s enough to pain his soul.”
Presently she muttered. “Yassir, enough to paint a whole thimbleful
of ’em.” At last her ramblings ceased altogether, and her countenance
began to clear–a welcome sight to Tom, who had learned her moods,
and knew she was on the threshold of good humor now.
He noticed that from time to time she unconsciously carried her finger
to the end of her nose. He looked closer and said:
“Why, Mammy, the end of your nose is skinned. How did that come?”
She sent out the sort of wholehearted peal of laughter which God had
vouchsafed in its perfection to none but the happy angels in heaven
and the bruised and broken black slave on the earth, and said:
“Dad fetch dat duel, I be’n in it myself.”
“Gracious! did a bullet to that?”
“Yassir, you bet it did!”
“Well, I declare! Why, how did that happen?”
“Happened dis-away. I ‘uz a-sett’n’ here kinder dozin’ in de dark,
en _che-bang!_ goes a gun, right out dah. I skips along out towards
t’other end o’ de house to see what’s gwine on, en stops by de ole winder
on de side towards Pudd’nhead Wilson’s house dat ain’t got no sash in it–
but dey ain’t none of ’em got any sashes, for as dat’s concerned–
en I stood dah in de dark en look out, en dar in the moonlight,
right down under me ‘uz one o’ de twins a-cussin’–not much,
but jist a-cussin’ soft–it ‘uz de brown one dat ‘uz cussin,’
‘ca’se he ‘uz hit in de shoulder. En Doctor Claypool he ‘uz
a-workin’ at him, en Pudd’nhead Wilson he ‘uz a-he’pin’, en ole
Jedge Driscoll en Pem Howard ‘uz a-standin’ out yonder a little piece
waitin’ for ’em to get ready agin. En treckly dey squared off en give
de word, en _bang-bang_ went de pistols, en de twin he say,
‘Ouch!’–hit him on de han’ dis time –en I hear dat same bullet
go _spat!_ ag’in de logs under de winder; en de nex’ time dey shoot,
de twin say, ‘Ouch!’ ag’in, en I done it too, ‘ca’se de bullet glance’
on his cheekbone en skip up here en glance’ on de side o’ de winder
en whiz right acrost my face en tuck de hide off’n my nose–
why, if I’d ‘a’; be’n jist a inch or a inch en a half furder ‘t
would ‘a’ tuck de whole nose en disfiggered me. Here’s de bullet;
I hunted her up.”
“Did you stand there all the time?”
“Dat’s a question to ask, ain’t it! What else would I do?
Does I git a chance to see a duel every day?”
“Why, you were right in range! Weren’t you afraid?”
The woman gave a sniff of scorn.
“‘Fraid! De Smith-Pocahontases ain’t ‘fraid o’ nothin’, let alone bullets.”
“They’ve got pluck enough, I suppose; what they lack is judgment.
_I_ wouldn’t have stood there.”
“Nobody’s accusin’ you!”
“Did anybody else get hurt?”
“Yes, we all got hit ‘cep’ de blon’ twin en de doctor en de seconds.
De Jedge didn’t git hurt, but I hear Pudd’nhead say de bullet snip
some o’ his ha’r off.”
“‘George!” said Tom to himself, “to come so near being out
of my trouble, and miss it by an inch. Oh dear, dear, he will
live to find me out and sell me to some nigger trader yet–yes,
and he would do it in a minute.” Then he said aloud, in a grave tone:
“Mother, we are in an awful fix.”
Roxana caught her breath with a spasm, and said:
“Chile! What you hit a body so sudden for, like dat?
What’s be’n en gone en happen’?”
“Well, there’s one thing I didn’t tell you. When I wouldn’t fight,
he tore up the will again, and–”
Roxana’s face turned a dead white, and she said:
“Now you’s _done!_–done forever! Dat’s de end. Bofe un us is gwine
to starve to–”
“Wait and hear me through, can’t you! I reckon that when he