"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.