Thinking black; 22 years without a break in the long grass of Central ...

456 THINKING BLACK
dear dying mother in the expostulating cry, " Mama
Mama !
" Years after, in contrition of heart, the memory
of that dying sob stabbed his soul, and when he heard of
Christ praying for His enemies he thought likewise of
that dying woman's prayer.
Watch how we conciliate these cut- throats. Picture
a tall hunter of powerful build, with a smile that would
frighten a bull-dog. But when his tale is told, it is a
wonder he has a smile at all. Have not two years dragged
past since his right arm was torn to pieces by the burst-
ing of his old " five feet of gas-pipe " gun ? The story
runs that, being a big brave black, he had enough of the
child left in him to want his weapon to go ofi" with a bang ;
so, one day in hunting, he loaded up inordinately, the
charge of powder nearly a foot deep in the barrel. Of
course, the bang that should have flattened the elephant
on the ground burst back on the hunter, and the biter
was bit. Thus began the twenty-four dragging months
of agony, when the quacks from far and near exploited
the gaping wound until the one became many. At last,
we come on the scene, and the problem now stands how
to break this ring of rascals and cure our man. Well,
plucky Mrs. Crawford, after much judicious wheedling,
finally conciliated the whole gang of kinsmen, the stoutest
objector being the man's own wife, who resentfully snifi'ed
a very gem of a sniff" in protest. To the last, this good
lady—one of the well-meaning, fussy type—turned up
her nose at the idea of a " death-sleep " operation ; but
this turning up of her nose was not to be wondered at,