“I don’t tell eve’ything I knows, Shinny,” she laughed, all unconscious of the clouds of jealousy which had gathered over him like a storm above a mountain peak. “A nigger husbunt hadn’t oughter know too much.” “Why oughtn’t dey know too much?” Shin snapped. “Because dey’s apt to lead deir wives a dance,” Whiffle snickered. “Huh!” Shin grunted. “I’s like a jackass—I ain’t got no year fer music an’ no foot fer dancin’!” Then he went and loaded his pistol and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. IV When Shin described to Skeeter Butts the strange man he had seen at the kitchen door, Skeeter evinced great surprise. “Dat’s de picture of de man whut borrered some money from me an’ gib me dem spy-glasses fer s’curity!” Skeeter exclaimed. “You is spyin’ on dat man wid his own spy-glasses.” “Ef you’ll borrer dat nigger’s pistol, I’ll shoot him wid his own gun,” Shin said. “You git dat shootin’ notion off’n yo’ mind!” Skeeter snapped. “Dar is bigger fish in de bayou dan you ever fried in yo’ resteraw, an’ dar is better nigger women in de worl’ dan dat blockhead Whiffle gal you’s got in yo’ kitchen.” “She suits me, an’ ef anybody tries to git her dar’s a right smart chance fer fun’rals!” “Mebbe so,” Skeeter said; “but she ain’t wuth fightin’ fer, especially when a fight will land you in de jail-house.” “Mebbe I kin think up some yuther way to chase dat nigger out of town,” Shin said: “but de best way I knows of now is to shoot at him till he gits good an’ skeart, an’ den throw rocks.” “Dat’s de favoryte nigger way of chasin’ coons,” Skeeter agreed; “but don’t git to shootin’ an’ throwin’ ontil I tells you to. Ef dar ain’t no better way to disperse dat nigger, mebbe I’ll he’p you wid a few bricks myself.” When Shin had gone, Skeeter hastened to the restaurant and called Whiffle out. “Shin Bone is got jealous about dat new nigger whut hangs aroun’ yo’ kitchen, Whiffle. I ain’t know his name, but you knows him. Shin has already cleant and oilt his gun, an’ is warmin’ up fer activations. We don’t need no fust-class killin’ in dis town, so you better stressify to dat coon whut is comin’ to him an’ ’suade him to git out.” “Is Shin a pretty good shooter?” Whiffle asked. “He is de wuss shooter in dis town,” Skeeter told her. “He cain’t possibly hit nothin’ but a innercent standbyer, an’ dat would be a luck shot.” “Ef dat’s de case, dar ain’t no danger,” Whiffle said easily. “He never will shoot at nobody.” “When a nigger gits jealousy, he goes crazy in his head, an’ he’s liable to do mighty nigh anything,” Skeeter said earnestly. “I’ll take keer of Shinny,” Whiffle laughed. “I’s mighty glad you tole me, so I’ll know whut to do.” Skeeter returned to the saloon, and half an hour later the strange negro who was owner of the field-glasses came in.