“Oh, that’s all right. Bill’s square. Come, all hands, let’s go up to the house and liquor. What’ll you have?” The Colonel bore the reputation of being the freest gentleman in Kansas City. For a number of days after this affair, Thomson went about the farm in a brown study. As the men had said, he was “bilin’ mad ’cause the nigger had got the dead wood on him.” “He’s got to be broken in; he knows too much,” he might have been heard muttering between his clinched teeth. Judah had received an ovation from the sporting fraternity and bade fair to become a popular idol. Thomson was offered large sums of money for him from several men, but refused them all with the words, “Money won’t buy him till I’m through with him.” Because of his daughter’s feelings slaves were never whipped on the plantation, but were sent to the slave prison in the city. About a week later Judah was ordered to take a note to the prison in Kansas City. Being a new comer on the plantation, he was not yet familiar with its ways, and taking the note, suspecting no evil, delivered it at the “bell gate.” The man who received the note after reading it called to a burly Negro: “Pete take this nigger, and strap him down upon the stretcher; get him ready for business.” “What are you going to do to me?” cried the horrified lad, at the man’s words. “You’ll know d----d quick! Strip yourself; I don’t want to tear your clothes with my whip. I’m going to tear your black skin.” Finding that pleading would be in vain, the lad fought madly, until overcome by three sturdy blacks who were called in to assist. They felled him to the ground and bound him with cords. “Take him to the shed,” commanded the whipper. “String him up to a cross-beam. He’s to have twenty lashes to begin with, then he’s to be whipped until we have orders to stop.” Strung up by his thumbs to the cross-beams, gashed, bleeding, every blow of the whip was torturing agony. The boy uttered not a groan. He had learned his lesson of endurance in the schools of the Indian stoic, and he bore his punishment without a murmur. But every stroke of the merciless lash was engraved on his heart in bleeding stripes that called for vengeance. In the midst of the scene Thomson strolled in. “Very good,” he said, after viewing the work a moment. “Let him breathe a minute, boys, then ten more. Now, Judah, this is a taste of wholesome discipline you’re getting. You’ve got to be brung down. I’m going to do it if I have to have you whipped every month for a year. I’m goin’ to break your spirit and teach you a nigger’s place; an’ if your life’s wurth anything to you the quicker you learn your lesson the better. No more high-head carryin’, gentlemanly airs, and dictionary talk; breaking hosses in ain’t wuth a cent to a nigger,” he added with a malicious leer. “All right, boys, give him ten more,” and while they were being administered the monster stood by calmly smoking his cigar. “Got grit,” said the whipper. “Ain’t whimpered.”