American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
“I’d ha’ done it ef it had been fifty,” cried the woman, angrily, “when
_he_ wuz in trouble. Oh, God! Oh, God! Don’t yer b’leeve it? Then look
here!” She picked up the smallest child as she spoke, and in the dim
light the men saw that its little feet were torn and bleeding. “’Twas
their blood or his’n,” cried the woman, rapidly, “an’ I didn’t know how
to choose between ’em. God hev mercy on me! I’m nigh crazy!”
Caney, of Texas, took the child from its mother and carried it to where
the moonlight was unobstructed. He looked carefully at its feet, and
then shouted:
“Bring the prisoner out here.”
Two men carried Bowney to where Caney was standing, and the whole party,
with the woman and remaining children, followed.
“Bill,” said Caney, “_I_ ain’t a askin’ yer to go back on yer friends,
but _them_ is—look at ’em.”
And Caney held the child’s feet before the father’s eyes, while the
woman threw her arms around his neck, and the two older children crept
up to the prisoner, and laid their faces against his legs.
“They’re a-talkin’ to yer, Bill,” resumed Caney, of Texas, “an’ they’re
the convincenist talkers _I_ ever seed.”
The desperado turned his eyes away; but Caney moved the child so its
bleeding feet were still before its father’s eyes.
The remaining men all retired beneath the shadow of the tree, for the
tender little feet were talking to them, too, and they were ashamed of
the results.
Suddenly Bowney uttered a deep groan.
“’Tain’t no use a-tryin’,” said he, in a resigned tone. “Everybody’ll be
down on me, an’ after all I’ve done, too! But yer ken hev their names,
curse yer!”
The woman went into hysterics; the children cried; Caney, of Texas,
ejaculated, “Bully!” and then kissed the poor little bruised feet.
The New Englander fervently exclaimed, “Thank God!”
“I’ll answer fur him till we get ’em,” said Caney, after the major had
written down the names Bowney gave him; “an’,” continued Caney,
“somebody git the rest of these young uns an’ ther mother to my cabin
powerful quick. Good Lord, don’t I jist wish they wuz boys! I’d adopt
the hull family.”
The court informally adjourned _sine die_, but had so many meetings
afterward at the same place to dispose of Bowney’s accomplices, that his
freedom was considered fairly purchased, and he and his family were
located a good way from the scenes of his most noted exploits.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
MR. PUTCHETT’S LOVE.
JUST after two o’clock, on a July afternoon, Mr. Putchett mounted
several steps of the Sub-Treasury in Wall Street, and gazed inquiringly
up and down the street.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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