But at first lift of his leg, Michael flew at it.

Kwaque immediately put it down, and Michael subsided, though he kept a watchful guard.

What did he know of this strange black, save that he was a black and that, in the absence of a white master, all blacks required watching?
Kwaque tried slowly sliding his foot along the floor, but Michael knew the trick and with bristle and growl put a stop to it.
It was upon this tableau that Daughtry entered, and, while he admired Michael much under the bright electric light, he realized the situation.
"Kwaque, you make 'm walk about leg belong you," he commanded, in order to make sure.
Kwaque's glance of apprehension at Michael was convincing enough, but the steward insisted.

Kwaque gingerly obeyed, but scarcely had his foot moved an inch when Michael's was upon him.

The foot and leg petrified, while Michael stiff-leggedly drew a half-circle of intimidation about him.
"Got you nailed to the floor, eh ?" Daughtry chuckled.