“Nigger be damned!” roared the Arkansas man jumping violently off his nail-keg. “Yo’ reckon I’m agoin’ ter sit hyar an’ see a white man hanged on nigger evidence. No, sir. I won’t stan’ such a insult to my race as that. There be some things a man o’ honour won’t stan’ an’ that’s one o’ them. Thar hain’t no man spryer to light out an’ catch a hoss-thief nor I be, an’ I’ll do my dooty in the hangin’ too, an’ hol’ the rope as tight as ony o’ yo’all. But I’ll bust up afore I’ll take nigger evidence ’gin a white man. I reckon there hain’t none o’ yo’ gen’lemen as is pertikler sot on that nigger, be yer?” Olive’s heart gave a bound of joy as the Arkansas juror poured forth his torrent of protest. Alas, poor Olive and her high-flown love of the black race! She was bound to confess that her best hope for effecting the end she was struggling for, lay in the blind race-prejudice of this ignorant Southerner. “I guess we ought to take all the evidence, white or black, that bears on the case,” observed he of Illinois. “If that thar nigger comes inter this hyar room to conten’ with this hyar jury an’ give his evidence, I’ll shoot him, ’fore he gits over that door-sill, so I will, by God, an’ no man as knows me ever said I went back o’ my word in shootin’.” The Arkansas juror faced them with his black eyes ablaze and his dark visage twitching with suppressed fury. He was quivering under the sting of what was to him an intolerable insult, and there was nothing he would not do to wipe out that insult. Olive looked at Cotterell for the first time, and as their eyes met he was horrified to see the white, drawn expression on her face. He attributed it to the very natural womanly fear that she might be involved in a promiscuous shooting affray in that crowded room. “Don’t be alarmed, they will not bring the negro in here,” he said soothingly. “I am not afraid for myself,” she answered, simply and truthfully. “Wal, gen’lemen,” said the foreman pleasantly. “I reckon we hev finished for this spell anyhow. I consider the prisoner hes hed as fair a trial as ony man could wish, and I hev on’y ter thank yer all for yer help upon this occasion in maintain’ the laws and freedom of our beloved country, as belongs to the duty of free-born citizens.” “Hurrah!” said the jury, with another relapse into Fourth of Julyism. “We’ve purty nigh lost two whole days’ work ’long o’ this hyar foolin’,” observed the Arkansas man angrily. “Them coons up to ’Fection City is nat’ral born fools anyhow. Fust they blaze roun’ an’ set us on ter run down a hoss-thief fur ’em. Soon as we’ve done cotch him, they sen’ roun’ a woman to say the hoss was lent. If the blamed critters come to me again, reckon I’ll stick to my plough-handles. I’ll not light out for them, you bet.” And he immediately walked out of the store followed by the entire jury and the foreman.