"'Wat dat you got on yo' haid, Big Abel?' he sez."
"Big Abel's a hero, there's no mistake," put in Dan, delighted. "Do you
know he lifted me as if I were a baby and toted me out of that God-forsaken
corn field in the hottest fire I ever felt--and I tipped the scales at a
hundred and fifty pounds before I went to Romney."
"Go way, Marse Dan, you ain' nuttin' but a rail," protested Big Abel, and
continued his story. "Atter I done tote him outer de cawn fiel' en thoo de
bresh, den I begin ter peer roun' fer one er dese yer ambushes, but dere
warn' nairy one un um dat warn' a-bulgin' a'ready. I d'clar dey des bulged
twel dey sides 'mos' split. I seed a hack drive long by wid two gemmen
a-settin' up in hit, en one un em des es well es I is,--but w'en I helt
Marse Dan up right high, he shake his haid en pint ter de udder like he
kinder skeered. 'Dis yer's my young brudder,' he sez, speakin' sof'; 'en
dis yer's my young Marster,' I holler back, but he shake his haid agin en
drive right on. Lawd, Lawd, my time's 'mos' up, I 'low den--yes, suh, I
do--but w'en I tu'n roun' squintin' my eyes caze de sun so hot--de sun he
wuz kinder shinin' thoo his back like he do w'en he hu't yo' eyes en you
cyan' see 'im--dar came a dump cyart a-joltin' up de road wid a speckled
mule hitch ter it. A lot er yuther w'ite folks made a bee line fer dat ar
dump cyart, but dey warn' 'fo' me, caze w'en dey git dar, dar I wuz
a-settin' wid Marse Dan laid out across my knees.
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