"Hit's not bad enuf fur thieves an' robbers." "Hit's God's judgement on the wicked an' the opporessor," said Aunt Debby, with solemn pitilessness.
"Hadn't we better try to get down there, and help those men out ?" suggested Harry.

"Perhaps they are not dead yet." "Aunt Debby, thet thar hoss thet's rain' his head an' whinnyin'," said Fortner, with sudden interest, "is Joel Sprigg's roan geldin', sho's yore bo'n, honey." He pointed to where a shapely head was raised, and almost human agony looked out of great liquid eyes.

"Thet wuz the finest hoss in Laurel County, an' they've stole 'im from Joel.

Hit'll 'bout break his heart, fur he set a powerful sight o'store on thet there beast.

Pore critter! hit makes me sick ter see 'im suffer thet-a-way! I've a mind ter put 'im outen his misery, but I'm afeered I can't shoot 'im, so long ez he looks at me with them big pitiful eyes o' his'n.