boys, one of them holding an enormous pistol
and both staring at him in stupor of ultimate horror. For, to the glassy
eyes of Penrod and Sam, the stratagem of the young coloured man, thus
dropping to earth, disclosed, with awful certainty, a slaughtered body.

This dreadful thing raised itself upon its elbows and looked at them,
and there followed a motionless moment--a tableau of brief duration, for
both boys turned and would have fled, shrieking, but the body spoke:

"'At's a nice business!" it said reproachfully. "Nice business! Tryin'
blow a man's head off!"

Penrod was unable to speak, but Sam managed to summon the tremulous
semblance of a voice. "Where--where did it hit you?" he gasped.

"Nemmine anything 'bout where it HIT me," the young coloured man
returned, dusting his breast and knees as he rose. "I want to know what
kine o' white boys you think you is--man can't walk 'long street
'thout you blowin' his head off!" He entered the stable and, with an
indignation surely justified, took the pistol from the limp, cold hand
of Penrod. "Whose gun you playin' with? Where you git 'at gun?"

"It's ours," quavered Sam. "It belongs to us."

"Then you' pa ought to be 'rested," said the young coloured man.
"Lettin' boys play with gun!" He examined the revolver with an interest
in which there began to appear symptoms of a pleasurable appreciation.
"My goo'ness! Gun like'iss blow a team o' steers thew a brick house!
LOOK at 'at gun!" With his right hand he twirled it in a manner most
dexterous and surprising; then suddenly he became severe. "You white
boy, listen me!" he said. "Ef I went an did what I OUGHT to did, I'd
march straight out 'iss stable, git a policeman, an' tell him 'rest you
an' take you off to jail. 'At's what you need--blowin' man's head off!
Listen me: I'm goin' take 'iss gun an' th'ow her away where you can't do
no mo' harm with her. I'm goin' take her way off in the woods an' th'ow
her away where can't nobody fine her an' go blowin' man's head off with
her. 'At's what I'm goin' do!" And placing the revolver inside his coat
as inconspicuously as possible, he proceeded to the open door and into
the alley, where he turned for a final word. "I let you off 'iss one
time," he said, "but listen me--you listen, white boy: you bet' not tell
you' pa. _I_ ain' goin' tell him, an' YOU ain' goin' tell him. He want
know where gun gone, you tell him you los' her."

He disappeared rapidly.

Sam Williams, swallow