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With a merest
glance at what had been Jake, he pushed his way through the throng,
and was confronted by Peter Champneys standing in front of old
Neptune Fennick, with a smoking shot-gun in his hands.
"You better do something, quick! If you let anything happen to Daddy
Nep, you've got to kill me first," panted Peter.
"He'd ought to be shot for a nigger-lover, Sheriff!" shouted the
farm-hand.
"All right. Do it. But you'll get your neck stretched for it! My
name's _Champneys_," shouted Peter.
The sheriff moved restlessly on his bay. A Champneys had fed his
parents. Chadwick Champneys had given him his first pair of shoes.
The sheriff was stirred to the depths by the crime that had been
committed, and he had no love for a nigger, but--
He turned to the menacing crowd. "Here, boys, enough o' this! The
right nigger's dead, and that's all there is to it. No, you don't do
no hangin'! I'm sheriff o' this county, an' I aim to keep the law.
Let that old nigger alone, Mosely! If that young hell-cat puts a
bullet in your chitlin's, it'll be your own funeral.


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