when shin bone revealed his trouble to skeeter butts, the situation delighted the very soul of the barkeeper.
“at de fust off-startin’, my notion is dat a lot of hongry niggers is hangin’ aroun’ yo’ kitchen beggin’ fer free vittles,” he told shin. “whiffle ain’t figgerin’ on bustin’ up her happy home by runnin’ off wid some yuther nigger man. i know she ain’t got no husbunt to brag on, but she done de best she could at de time, an’ husbunts ain’t improved so much dat she aims to lop you off.”
“kin you kinder watch aroun’ an’ see who it is dat’s hangin’ aroun’ de kitchen?” shin asked.
“why don’t you do yo’ own watchin’?”
“i cain’t git close enough to see.”
“stay fur away an’ look,” skeeter suggested.
he rose, walked around the bar, and brought out a pair of army field-glasses enclosed in a leather case. they were handsome things. he adjusted the lenses to his vision, handed them to shin bone and indicated an old tree whose dead limbs pointed upward like the fingers of a gnarled and twisted hand in the little mocassin swamp, three miles away. shin placed the glasses to his eyes and uttered a yell of surprise.
“my lawd!” he exclaimed. “i see a red-head woodpecker settin’ on one of dem limbs!”
“suttinly,” skeeter said. “you kin look jes’ as fur as you wants to when you look through dem glasses.”
“i ain’t aimin’ to see no furder dan a suttin nigger man,” shin replied. “atter i see who whiffle’s beau is, i expecks to git a little closer.”
“how close?” skeeter grinned.
“close enough to shoot at dat nigger six times; an’ ef i has bad luck an’ misses wid all dem shots, i’s gwine throw brickbats at him half an hour,” shin told his counselor.
“all you got to do is to borrer dem glasses an’ keep yo’ eye on de kitchen.”
“whar would be a good place to hide while i watches?”
in his mind, skeeter took a survey of all the surrounding country before he offered a suggestion. finally he pointed to a tree half-way across the town, on a little hill, and said:
“ef you climb up in dat tree an’ hide yo’se’f in de leaves, i figgers dat you will hab a straight line to look right at yo’ kitchen door. ef i wus you, i’d go out to dat tree right now an’ take a look wid dese glasses.”
“i’ll shore try dat on!” shin exclaimed. “does dese here glasses b’long to you?”
“naw. dey ain’t really mine, but i’ll lend you de loant of ’em,” skeeter said. “a feller come to dis saloon an’ borrered some money, an’ lef’ dese here spy-glasses fer s’curity. so, of co’se, dey is mine ontil he fetches back de money whut he borrered.”
