“He didn’t live here,” Shin said impatiently. “He got his raisin’ in N’Awleens. Jes’ dropped in day o’ the weddin’ an’ then dropped out before I even took time to get a good look at him. But dat Pewter nigger ain’t got nothin’ to do wid dis. Us is done side-tracked an’ got off de subjeck.” “Whut does you want me to do?” Vinegar asked. “Keep yo’ eye out fer me, an’ find out who dat nigger is whut hangs aroun’ Whiffle.” “Naw, suh,” Vinegar said promptly. “I don’t monkey wid no love scrapes. I’m a exput in givin’ religious advices, but I ain’t no mattermony-fixer. I declines.” “Who muss I take my troubles to?” Shin asked desperately. “Tell yo’ sorrers to de barkeep,” Vinegar chuckled. “You knows as well as I do dat Skeeter Butts is de exput mattermony-fixer of dis town.” Shin placed his hat on his head and stood up. “I aimed to ax Skeeter, too, Rev’un, but I decided to come to see you fust.” “Dat wus right,” Vinegar applauded. “I loves to git fusters on eve’y scandal in town.” II When Shin Bone revealed his trouble to Skeeter Butts, the situation delighted the very soul of the barkeeper. “At de fust off-startin’, my notion is dat a lot of hongry niggers is hangin’ aroun’ yo’ kitchen beggin’ fer free vittles,” he told Shin. “Whiffle ain’t figgerin’ on bustin’ up her happy home by runnin’ off wid some yuther nigger man. I know she ain’t got no husbunt to brag on, but she done de best she could at de time, an’ husbunts ain’t improved so much dat she aims to lop you off.” “Kin you kinder watch aroun’ an’ see who it is dat’s hangin’ aroun’ de kitchen?” Shin asked. “Why don’t you do yo’ own watchin’?” “I cain’t git close enough to see.” “Stay fur away an’ look,” Skeeter suggested. He rose, walked around the bar, and brought out a pair of army field-glasses enclosed in a leather case. They were handsome things. He adjusted the lenses to his vision, handed them to Shin Bone and indicated an old tree whose dead limbs pointed upward like the fingers of a gnarled and twisted hand in the Little Mocassin Swamp, three miles away. Shin placed the glasses to his eyes and uttered a yell of surprise. “My Lawd!” he exclaimed. “I see a red-head woodpecker settin’ on one of dem limbs!” “Suttinly,” Skeeter said. “You kin look jes’ as fur as you wants to when you look through dem glasses.” “I ain’t aimin’ to see no furder dan a suttin nigger man,” Shin replied. “Atter I see who Whiffle’s beau is, I expecks to git a little closer.” “How close?” Skeeter grinned. “Close enough to shoot at dat nigger six times; an’ ef I has bad luck an’ misses wid all dem shots, I’s gwine throw brickbats at him half an hour,” Shin told his counselor. “All you got to do is to borrer dem glasses an’ keep yo’ eye on de kitchen.” “Whar would be a good place to hide while I watches?”