nigger, to be shootin' off his mouf' 'bout sumpin' what warn't none o' his business?"
And yet Colonel Spottiswoode suspected nothing, even when Lyttleton and McDonald noddingly agreed that it was a sinister coincidence. With apparent innocence old Zack rambled on: "Dese Afriky niggers don't smoke cigarettes, an' tain't no matches in de seed cotton what'll ketch fire when it runs through de gin stan'. Dat's de onlies' way I ever heard of a gin house burnin' 'cept when somebody sot 'em afire like dat nigger—dat's it. Dat's it. He's de ve'y nigger what done it."
"No, he didn't, he's dead," McDonald spoke savagely.
"Well, maybe some o' his kinfolks sot it afire, to git even 'bout him bein' kilt."
The Colonel had heard of many such instances at home, so he asked quickly, "Major Lyttleton, what do you think of that?"
"It was not a Shilluk. They won't try it again."
"Why did they try it the first time?"
"Superstition. To them this gin represents a great devil of hunger, which their king compels them to feed. A Shilluk tries to kill this devil by fire. Fire can't harm him. Shilluk never try it again. That's the whole story."
The gin had been removed from Zack's path, and by next morning he had quit studying about it.
