He spat away the stump of his cigar.
"Sure as God, John Murrell, you are overreaching yourself! Your white men are all right, they've got to stick by you; if they don't they know it's only a question of time until they get a knife driven into their ribs--but niggers--there isn't any real fight in a nigger, if there was they wouldn't be here." "Yet you couldn't have made the whites in Hayti believe that," said Murrell, with a sinister smile.
"Because they were no-account trash themselves!" returned Ware, shaking his head.

"We'll all go down in this muss you're fixing for!" he added.
"No, you won't, Tom.

I'll look out for my friends.

You'll be warned in time." "A hell of a lot of good a warning will do!" growled Ware.
"The business will be engineered so that you, and those like you, will not be disturbed.

Maybe the niggers will have control of the country for a day or two in the thickly settled parts near the towns; longer, of course, where the towns and plantations are scattering.