“I think dis here is yo’ job, Skeeter,” Pap Curtain snarled, the habitual sneer upon his face becoming more acute and repulsive as he tried to conceal his timidity. “Dazzle didn’t want none of us buttin’ in, or she’d axed fer us. Ef you wants to make a hit wid Dazzle, you got to pick up a brave heart an’ go out dar an’ kill dat band of robbers—jes’ like when you wus in de army.” “But us army soldiers didn’t do no fightin’ all by our lonely selfs,” Skeeter wailed. “We fi’t an’ bled an’ died in regimints!” “You oughter hab fotch yo’ army home wid you,” Pap sneered. “Somepin like dis might happen sudden any time, an’ you knowed you’d need it.” The telephone rang sharply, and every man jumped with fright. “Gosh, dat skeart me!” Pap Curtain exclaimed. “Answer de telerphome, Skeeter.” “Answer de telerphome, Figger,” Skeeter squalled, feeling nervously in all his pockets as if he were hunting for the most important thing in the world and could not abandon the search. “My shoe-string is come ontied,” Figger answered as he bent over his foot. “You answer de phome, Mustard!” Mustard did not move. The telephone bell subsided with a final little tinkle. “Dar now, it’s too late!” Mustard lamented. “I’d ’a’ answered, only but I’m total deef in one y-ear.” The telephone rang again, sharply, insistently; rang for a good five minutes. “Answer it, Hitch Diamond!” Skeeter wailed in the midst of the sound. Hitch pretended not to hear. “I bet dat is Hopey telerphomin’ me dat she’s dead,” Mustard Prophet muttered in pitiful fright. “I won’t never git no more hot biscuits. Hopey wus shore a good cook an’ a good wife. Us had little spats, but dar warn’t never no hard feelin’s.” “Come on, fellers,” Skeeter interrupted. “Less go up on de hill an’ see whut’s happened.” “I ain’t gwine in dat house!” Pap Curtain exclaimed. “I don’t like to see blood spilt aroun’ all over Marse Tom’s nice carpets.” “I hope dey don’t spile de floor too much,” Hitch grumbled as he rose to his feet. “Marse Tom always makes me scrub up de messes because Hopey’s too dang fat to lean over.” “I’ll let Pap guard de front of de house an’ hide behime de big pecan-tree,” Skeeter announced, glad enough to get company. “Hitch kin guard de kitchen by hidin’ behime de meat-house. Figger an’ Mustard kin guard each side of de house by layin’ on de groun’ outside de lawn-fence.” While Skeeter was issuing these orders, Little Bit had entered the saloon, and stood listening. When Skeeter ended, he spoke: “I’s gwine guard de Hen-Scratch by hidin’ behime de bar counter,” he giggled, without an idea what all the excitement was about. “Whar you been at, you little debbil?” Skeeter Butts snapped, whirling about to face the Hen-Scratch’s factotum. “You stay an’ keep dis saloon—an’ ef de telerphome rings, you answer it.”