'Come out, I till ye; I sha'n't ax ye agin.'
'I'll hab nuffin' to do wid you. G'way and send your massa har,' replied
the mulatto man, turning his face away with a lordly, contemptuous
gesture, that spoke him a true descendant of Pocahontas. This movement
exposed his left side to the doorway, outside of which, hidden from us
by the tree, stood the Overseer.
'Come away, Moye,' said the Colonel, advancing with me toward the door;
'_I'll_ speak to him.'
Before all of the words had escaped the Colonel's lips, a streak of fire
flashed from where the Overseer stood, and took the direction of the
negro. One long, wild shriek,--one quick, convulsive bound in the
air,--and Sam fell lifeless to the floor, the dark life-stream pouring
from his side. The little child also fell with him, and its
greasy-grayish shirt was dyed with its father's blood. Moye, at the
distance of ten feet, had discharged the two barrels of a
heavily-loaded shot-gun directly through the negro's heart.
'You incarnate son of h----,' yelled the Colonel, as he sprang on the
Overseer, bore him to the ground, and wrenched the shot-gun from his
hand. Clubbing the weapon, he raised it to brain him. The movement
occupied but a second; the gun was descending, and in another instant
Moye would have met Sam in eternity, had not a brawny arm caught the
Colonel's, and, winding itself around his body, pinned his limbs to his
side so that motion was impossible.
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