“Ef Primus had ‘a’ knowed whose shote dat wuz, he ’d ‘a’ manage’ ter git pas’ it somehow er ‘nudder.  Ez it happen’, de shote b’long ter a cunjuh man w’at libbed down in de free-nigger sett’ement.  Co’se de cunjuh man did n’ hab ter wuk his roots but a little w’ile ‘fo’ he foun’ out who tuk his shote, en den de trouble begun.  One mawnin’, a day er so later, en befo’ he got de shote eat up, Primus did n’ go ter wuk w’en de hawn blow, en w’en de oberseah wen’ ter look fer him, dey wa’ no trace er Primus ter be ‘skivered nowhar.  W’en he did n’ come back in a day er so mo’, eve’ybody on de plantation ’lowed he had runned erway.  His marster a’vertise’ him in de papers, en offered a big reward fer ’im.  De nigger-ketchers fotch out dey dogs, en track’ ’im down ter de aidge er de swamp, en den de scent gun out; en dat was de las’ anybody seed er Primus fer a long, long time.

“Two er th’ee weeks atter Primus disappear’, his marster went ter town one Sad’day.  Mars Jim was stan’in’ in front er Sandy Campbell’s bar-room, up by de ole wagon-ya’d, w’en a po’ w’ite man fum down on de Wim’l’ton Road come up ter ‘im en ax’ ’im, kinder keerless lack, ef he did n’ wanter buy a mule.

“‘I dunno,’ says Mars Jim; ’it ’pen’s on de mule, en on de price.  Whar is de mule?’

“’Des ‘roun’ heah back er ole Tom McAllister’s sto’,’ says de po’ w’ite man.

“‘I reckon I’ll hab a look at de mule,’ says Mars Jim, ’en ef he suit me, I dunno but w’at I mought buy ‘im.’

“So de po’ w’ite man tuk Mars Jim ‘roun’ back er de sto’, en dere stood a monst’us fine mule.  W’en de mule see Mars Jim, he gun a whinny, des lack he knowed him befo’.  Mars Jim look’ at de mule, en de mule ’peared ter be soun’ en strong.  Mars Jim ’lowed dey ’peared ter be sump’n fermilyus ’bout de mule’s face, ‘spesh’ly his eyes; but he had n’ los’ naer mule, en did n’ hab no recommemb’ance er habin’ seed de mule befo’.  He ax’ de po’ buckrah whar he got de mule, en de po’ buckrah say his brer raise’ de mule down on Rockfish Creek.  Mars Jim was a little s’picious er seein’ a po’ w’ite man wid sech a fine creetur, but he fin’lly ’greed ter gib de man fifty dollars fer de mule,—­’bout ha’f w’at a good mule was wuf dem days.

“He tied de mule behin’ de buggy w’en he went home, en put ’im ter ploughin’ cotton de nex’ day.  De mule done mighty well fer th’ee er fo’ days, en den de niggers ‘mence’ ter notice some quare things erbout him.  Dey wuz a medder on de plantation whar dey use’ ter put de hosses en mules ter pastur’.  Hit was fence’ off fum de cornfiel’ on one side, but on de yuther side’n de pastur’ was a terbacker-patch w’at wa’n’t fence’ off, ’ca’se de beastisses doan none un ’em eat terbacker.  Dey doan know w’at ’s good!  Terbacker is lack religion, de good Lawd made it fer people, en dey ain’ no yuther creetur w’at kin ’preciate it.  De darkies notice’ dat de fus’ thing de new mule done, w’en he was turnt inter de pastur’, wuz ter make fer de terbacker-patch.  Co’se dey didn’ think nuffin un it, but nex’ mawnin’, w’en dey went ter ketch ’im, dey ’skivered dat he had eat up two whole rows er terbacker plants.  Atter dat dey had ter put a halter on ’im, en tie ’im ter a stake, er e’se dey would n’ ‘a’ been naer leaf er terbacker lef’ in de patch.