moan'in, after kicking up all dis rumpus. If
dar is a sassy, highfalutin' nigger I jiss 'spises--its dat black nigger
Cato o' yo'se! Now,"--relenting--"yo' jiss wink yo' eye, honey,
and don't excite yo'se'f about sach black trash; drap off to sleep
comfor'ble. Fo' you do'an get annuder word out o' Sophy, shuah!"

As if in obedience, Courtland closed his eyes. But even in his weak
state he was conscious of the blood coming into his cheek at Sophy's
relentless criticism of the man for whom he had just periled his life
and position. Much of it he felt was true; but how far had he been a
dupe in his quixotic defense of a quarrelsome blusterer and cowardly
bully? Yet there was the unmistakable shot and cold-blooded attempt at
Cato's assassination! And there were the bloodhounds sent to track the
unfortunate man! That was no dream--but a brutal inexcusable fact!

The medical practitioner of Redlands he remembered was conservative,
old-fashioned, and diplomatic. But his sympathies had been broadened by
some army experiences, and Courtland trusted to some soldierly and frank
exposition of the matter from him. Nevertheless, Dr. Maynard was first
healer, and, like Sophy, professionally cautious. The colonel had better
not talk about it now. It was already two days old; the colonel had been
nearly forty-eight hours in bed. It was a regrettable affair, but the
natural climax of long-continued political and racial irritation--and
not without GREAT provocation! Assassination was a strong word; could
Colonel Courtland swear that Cato was actually AIMED AT, or was it not
merely a demonstration to frighten a bullying negro? It might have been
necessary to teach him a lesson--which the colonel by this time ought
to know could only be taught to these inferior races by FEAR. The
bloodhounds! Ah, yes!--well, the bloodhounds were, in fact, only a
part of that wholesome discipline. Surely Colonel Courtland was not so
foolish as to believe that, even in the old slave-holding days, planters
sent dogs after runaways to mangle and destroy THEIR OWN PROPERTY? They
might as well, at once, let them escape! No, sir! They were used only
to frighten and drive the niggers out of swamps, brakes, and
hiding-places--as no nigger had ever dared to face 'em. Cato might lie
as much as he liked, but everybody knew WHO it was that killed Major
Reed's hounds. Nobody blamed the colonel for it,--not even Major
Reed,--but if the colonel had lived a little longer i