The old man touched his arm gently.
"How so ?" "I've a-sold my soul to hell." "I don't care.

You'm alive an' standin' here, an' I can save 'ee." "Can 'ee so ?" Zeb asked ironically.
"Man, I feel sure o't." His ugly earnest face became almost grand in the flame of the sunset.

"Turn aside, here, an' kneel down; I will wrestle wi' the Lord for thee till comfort comes, if it take the long night." "You'm a strange chap.

Can such things happen i' these days ?" "Kneel and try." "No, no, no," Zeb flung out his hands.

"It's too late, I tell 'ee.
No man's words will I hear but the words of Lamech--'I ha' slain a man to my wounding, an' a young man to my hurt.' Let me go--'tis too late.
Let me go, I say--" As the hollibubber still clung to his arm, he gave a push and broke loose.