"Can a body drap a word here?" It was Uncle Sammy's thin voice
that cut into the silence.
"Certainly, Uncle Sammy. This here co't will always admire to
listen to you."
"Well, I'd like to say that I consider that Fayetteville co't
mighty officious with its orders. This part of the county won't
take nothin' off Fayetteville! We don't interfere with
Fayetteville, and blamed if we'll let Fayetteville interfere with
us!" There was a murmur of approval. Scratch Hill remembered
the rifles in its hands and took comfort.
"The Fayetteville co't air a higher co't than this, Uncle Sammy,"
explained the squire indulgently.
"I'm aweer of that," snapped the patriarch. "I've seen hit's
steeple."
"Air you finished, Uncle Sammy?" asked the squire deferentially.
"I 'low I am. But I 'low that if this here case is goin' agin
Bob Yancy I'd recommend him to go home and not listen to no mo'
foolishness."
"Mr. Yancy will oblige this co't by setting still while I finish
this case," said the squire with dignity. "As I've already
p'inted out, the question of veracity presents itself strongly to
the mind of this here colt. Mr. Yancy has sworn to one thing,
Mr. Blount to another.
Now the Yancys air an old family in these parts; Mr. Blount's
folks air strangers, but we don't know nothing agin them--"
"And we don't know nothing in their favor," Uncle Sammy
interjected.
"Dave's grandfather came here from Virginia about fifty years
back and settled near Scratch Hill--"
"We never knowed why he left Virginia or why he came here," said
Uncle Sammy, and knowing what local feeling was, was sure he had
shot a telling bolt.
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