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“You knows good an’ well whar I lives at,” snapped Red Hoss.

“I thought mebbe you mout ‘a’ moved,” said Tallow Dick mildly. “‘Twouldn’t never do fur me an’ Bill yere to be totin’ de remains to de wrong address. Been my experience dat nothin’ ain’t mo’ onwelcome at a strange house ‘en a daid nigger, especially one dat’s about six feet two inches long an’ all mussed up wid fresh mule tracks.”

“Huh! You two ole fools is jes’ talkin’ to hear yo’se’fs talk,” quoth Red Hoss. “All I axes you to do is jes’ set quiet yere, an’ in ’bout six minutes f’um now you’ll see me leadin’ a tamed-down white mule wid de britchin’ all on him outen through dem stable barn do’s.”

“All right, honey, have it yo’ own way. Ef you won’t hearken an’ you won’t heed, go ahaid!” stated Uncle Bill, with a wave of his hand. “You ain’t too young to die, even ef you is too ole to learn. Only I trust an’ prays dat you won’t be blamin’ nobody but yo’se’f ’bout this time day after to-mor’ evenin’ w’en de sexton of Mount Zion Cullud Cemetery starts pattin’ you in de face wid a spade.”

“Unc’ Bill, you said a moufful den,” added Tallow Dick. “De way I looks at it, dey ain’t no use handin’ out sense to a nigger ef he ain’t got no place to put it. ‘Sides, dese things offen-times turns out fur de best; orphants leaves de fewest mourners. Good-by, Red Hoss, an’ kindly give my reguards to any frien’s of mine dat you meets up wid on ‘yother side of Jordan.”

With another derisive grunt, Red Hoss rose from where he had been resting, angled to the opposite side of the street and disappeared within the stable. For perhaps ninety seconds after he was gone the remaining two sat in an attitude of silent waiting. Their air was that of a pair of black seers who likewise happen to be fatalists, and who having conscientiously discharged a duty of prophecy now await with calmness the fulfillment of what had been foretold. Then they heard, over there where Red Hoss had vanished, a curious muffled outcry. As they subsequently described it, this sound was neither shriek nor moan, neither oath nor prayer. They united in the declaration that it was more in the nature of a strangled squeak, as though a very large rat had suddenly been trodden beneath an even larger foot. However, for all its strangeness, they rightfully interpreted it to be an appeal for succor. Together they rose and ran across Water Street and into the stable.

The Frank mule had snapped his tether and, freed, was backing himself out into the open. If a mule might be said to pick his teeth, here was a mule doing that very thing. Crumpled under the manger of the stall he just had quitted was a huddled shape. The rescuers drew it forth, and in the clear upon the earthen stable floor they stretched it. It was recognizable as the form of Red Hoss Shackleford.

Red Hoss seemed numbed rather than unconscious. Afterward Bill Tilghman in recounting the affair claimed that Red Hoss, when discovered, was practically nude clear down to his shoes, which being of the variety known as congress gaiters had elastic uppers to hug the ankles. This snugness of fit, he thought, undoubtedly explained why they had stayed on when all the rest of the victim’s costume came off. In his version, Tallow Dick averred he took advantage of the circumstance of Red Hoss’ being almost totally undressed to tally up bruise marks as counter-distinguished from tooth marks, and found one of the former for every two sets of the latter. From this disparity in the count, and lacking other evidence, he was bound to conclude that considerable butting had been done before the biting started.

However, these conclusions were to be arrived at later. For the moment the older men busied themselves with fanning Red Hoss and with sluicing a bucket of water over him. His first intelligible words upon partially reviving seemed at the moment of their utterance to have no direct bearing upon that which had just occurred. It was what he said next which, in the minds of the hearers, established the proper connection.