He
waited until he heard her walk away, sat down with the air of a man who
is very, very weary, rested his elbows upon his knees, and with his
hands clasped loosely together, he glowered at the jug on the floor.
Then the soul of Ford Campbell went deep down into the pit where all the
devils dwell.
CHAPTER XIII
A Plan Gone Wrong
It was Mose crashing headlong into the old messbox where he kept rattly
basins, empty lard pails, and such, that roused Ford. He got up and went
into the kitchen, and when he saw what was, the matter, extricated Mose
by the simple method of grabbing his shoulders and pulling hard; then he
set the cook upon his feet, and got full in his face the unmistakable
fumes of whisky.
"What? You got another jug?" he asked, with some disgust, steadying Mose
against the wall.
"Ah--I ain't got any jug uh nothin'," Mose protested, rather thickly.
"And I never took them bottles outa the stack; that musta been Dick done
that. Get after him about it; he's the one told me where yuh hid
'em--but I never touched 'em, honest I never. If they're gone, you get
after Dick. Don't yuh go 'n' lay it on me, now!" He was whimpering with
maudlin pathos before he finished.
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