We’d skin him if he done that!”

“How can he blow? Hain’t he run off?”

“No! That old fool sold him, and never divided with me, and the money’s gone.”

“Sold him?” I says, and begun to cry; “why, he was my nigger, and that was my money. Where is he? — I want my nigger.”

“Well, you can’t get your nigger, that’s all — so dry up your blubbering. Looky here — do you think you’d venture to blow on us? Blamed if I think I’d trust you. Why, if you was to blow on us — “

He stopped, but I never see the duke look so ugly out of his eyes before.