Mass' George Part 28

Pomp broke out with one of his laughs, hooked hold of the grinning head, and dragged it out of the mud up to the side of a clear pool, a little way back in the swamp.

"Stop a bit," I said; "I want to have a good look at it."

"Wait till I wash um, Ma.s.s' George. No; must wash umself fus. Here a mess."

Pomp was about to jump into the pool to wash the mud from his legs, when he suddenly clapped his hands.

"Oh, here's game, Ma.s.s' George; only look. Dat's ole 'gator's house a water, where he keep all 'um lil pickaninny. Look at 'um."

Sure enough, there were five or six small alligators at the far end-- little fellows not very long out of the sh.e.l.l.

"Oh dear!" cried Pomp, "I very sorry for you poor fellows. Poor old fader got um head cut off. What, you no b'lieve um? Den look dah."

He threw the great head into the pool with a splash, and then jumped in to stand up to his knees, washing it about till it was free from mud, and his legs too, when he dragged it out again on to the green moss, and we proceeded to examine the horrible jaws.

"Him much worse den Pomp."

"What do you mean?"

"Ma.s.s' Morgan and de capen say Pomp do lot o' mischuff. Dat do more mischuff den Pomp."

"Yes, I should think so," I said, as I examined the dripping head, and saw plainly that my bullet must have gone right through the monster's brain, probably only stunning it for the time being, and enough to give the boy time to hack off its head. For these creatures have an amount of vitality that is wonderful, and after injuries that are certain in the end to prove fatal, contrive to get back into the water and swim away.

It was a long time before I was satisfied with gazing at the grinning head, with its great teeth and holes in the upper jaw into which they seemed to fit as into a sheath. At last though I turned to the boy.

"We must take it home, Pomp," I said.

"No," he said, with a look of disgust. "Um quite dead now. Frow um into de ribber."

"Oh no! I want my father to see it, and Morgan."

"We go an' fess um den."

"No, no. You must carry it home."

"No, too heaby, Ma.s.s' George, and um begin to 'tink."

I laughed, for Pomp was beginning to show his natural disinclination for work, though certainly the hideous head did send forth an unpleasant, musky odour. So long as an exciting task was on hand which interested him, Pomp would work most industriously; but over anything plodding and approaching drudgery he was laziness itself.

"I frow um in de ribber, or you frow um in, Ma.s.s' George."

"Neither," I said. "It must be carried home."

"What, dat great heaby head?"

"Yes."

"What, all de way fro' de tree?"

"Yes."

"No, no, Ma.s.s' George, um too heaby. Dat kill a poor n.i.g.g.e.r all dead, oh!"

"Nonsense! It is not so heavy as all that."

"Oh, yes; um drefful heaby. Frow um in."

"But I want my father to see it, and Morgan would like to."

"Eh? I see."

He ducked down quickly, and lifted the head on to an old stump. Then, breaking off a bough of dead wood, he chopped a short piece off and propped open the huge jaws.

"Dah!" he exclaimed, gleefully. "Dat make um laugh, and de fly come in an' out, an' um no snap at um no more."

"But don't I tell you that I want them to see it at home. Sarah would like to see it too."

"Eh? Oh, no, Ma.s.s' George," cried Pomp, excitedly, and beginning to imitate poor Sarah's sharp acid way so accurately that I roared with laughter. For every tone of her voice--every gesticulation--was exactly true to nature.

"'What!'" he cried; "'what you mean, you nast' black young rascal, bring dat ting in my clean kitchun? I get hold ob you, I box your ears. How dah you--how dah you! Take um away--take um away!' Dat what Misses Sarah say."

"But we will not take it into her clean kitchen, Pomp. We'll put it on that pine-stump at the bottom of the garden."

"Oh, no, Ma.s.s' George. Sun shine on um, and de fly come on. Make um 'mell horrid."

"Oh, that will soon go off," I said. "Come, let's get back. Wait till I've loaded again though. Here, give me the powder and a bullet. We might see something else."

"Eh?"

"I said give me the powder and a bullet. Halloa! Where's the ammunition?"

"Eh? Now where I put dat amnisham, Ma.s.s' George? I dunno."

"Why, you must have laid it down on the ground when we came after the alligator."

"Sure I did, Ma.s.s' George. Ah, you are clebber boy. Come 'long, we find um we go back."

"No, no, stop. I want that head carried home."

"But um so heaby, Ma.s.s' George, and poor Pomp drefful hot an' tire."

"Dreadful lazy you mean," I cried, angrily. "Come, sir."

"Now, Ma.s.s' George cross again, and goin' break poor lil n.i.g.g.e.r heart,"

he whimpered.

"Stuff! Sham! Lay hold of that head."