“Skeeter, I come to git my money back,” he said. “I done decided not to buy no race-hoss.” “You cain’t git yo’ money back,” Skeeter said. “De white man took all our dollars wid him, an’ now our hoss done eloped away.” “I don’t know no white man,” Conko Mukes said belligerently. “I never seen no white man. I ain’t saw nobody but you, didn’t make no trade wid nobody but you, an’ I got a mighty shawt look at dat hoss whut I paid my good ten dollars fer. Now I’s lookin’ to you!” “I got a mighty little look, too,” Skeeter said placatingly. “I ain’t got a real good recollection of whut dat hoss looked like. I ain’t real shore I’d know him in de road ef he didn’t limp none.” “I ain’t buyin’ no absent hoss,” Conko said. “I want my money back!” “But de white man is got our money,” Skeeter explained again. “You won’t git yo’ money onless you finds de white man; an’ he’ll be harder to find dan de hoss. You had a look at de hoss, but you never saw de white man whut sold it.” “I ain’t seem’ nobody but you,” Conko Mukes remarked in a hard tone. “I gived you my money an’ you tuck it, an’ you is de mighty nigh white man whut is got to give it back!” “I ain’t got no money!” Skeeter Butts wailed. “Git it!” Conko Mukes barked. With this command he drew a large pistol from a holster under his left arm and laid it on the table with the business end pointing toward Skeeter Butts. Skeeter turned almost white. Conko had the reputation of having killed several men, and Skeeter had no desire to be commemorated by the next notch carved on the butt of his gun. He rose hastily to his feet and started toward the little safe in the corner of the barroom. Conko followed him, his big gun punching at a spot between Skeeter’s shoulder blades, which turned cold as ice from the contact of the steel. Conko was not sure whether Skeeter was going after money or a gun. The trembling barkeeper stooped and opened the little door of his safe. He took out the only ten dollars he had in the world and thrust it into Conko’s hands. “Good-by, Skeeter,” Conko grinned. “Dat wus a very narrer escapement fer you. I done kilt plenty niggers fer less money!” III The next day Skeeter faced bankruptcy. Conko possessed the gift of expression and liked to talk. He exhibited the ten dollars he had secured from Skeeter, boasted of the forcible methods he used to extract it from the barkeeper’s roll, and started eight others to planning how they also could get their money back. The Rev. Vinegar Atts called early, and brought Conko Mukes with him. “I wants my money back, Skeeter!” he howled. “Conko an’ me been talkin’ it over. He specifies dat I kin come an’ shoot off my mouth, an’ he’ll be handy to shoot off his gun; but I hopes dat ain’t needful to pussuade you to do yo’ Christyum duty an’ hand my dollars back. Ef you don’t see it dat way, I kin do de tongue-lashin’ an’ Conko kin do de razor-slashin’. How soon is you gwine hand over my ten?”