Conko Mukes dived back into the lake, swam across it, and hid in the deep marsh-grass on the other side until after dark.
The next morning, Sheriff John Flournoy met Skeeter Butts and inquired:
“Skeeter, what made you niggers run off yesterday when we came out to see the fight?”
“Dunno, Marse John,” Skeeter grinned. “You know how niggers is. We figgered mebbe you white folks didn’t favor prize-fights.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” Flournoy replied. “Goldie Diamond came running to town and told us the niggers were having a prize-fight, and when we went out to see it, she raised a whoop and scared all the niggers away.”
“Yes, suh,” Skeeter grinned. “Dat’s whut she done.”
“Well, suh, I s’pose Goldie thought Hitch wus gwine git knocked out. Anyways, I’s powerful glad it happened, Marse John. Ef dat hadn’t come to pass, Skeeter Butts would be bankbust by dis time in de mawnin’.”
Flournoy turned away by no means satisfied, but confident that there was some nigger secret in the matter which the darkies would never reveal.
Skeeter left him and hastened down to the Hen-Scratch saloon where he found Hitch Diamond and Conko Mukes waiting for him.
The two pugilists and their seconds had spent nearly all night straightening out their finances after the bets had been declared off, and the fight had run off.
Conko Mukes had been drinking heavily and was in a bad humor.
“I got jes’ one thing ag’in’ you, Hitch,” he growled, “an’ dat is dat las’ punch you gib me on de jaw. You acked like you wus hypnertized, an’ I wusn’t lookin’ fer no punch. I don’t think dat wus plum’ fair.”
“Dat shore wus a jolter, Conko,” Hitch grinned. “Lawd, I’ll remember dat after I’m done dead!”
Conko Mukes’s eyes glowed with evil intent as he listened to Hitch’s delighted chuckles. Finally Conko said:
“But I fooled you ’bout dat hypnertize, Hitch. You thought it wus my eyes, an’ I didn’t hyp you wid my eyes.”
“Dat’s a fack,” Hitch chuckled. “Whut did you aim to use on me?”
“I hypnertized you wid my wavin’ hand, like dis--” Conko explained as he rose to his feet to illustrate. His right hand began a slow chopping motion in front of Hitch’s face, and he continued: “You gotter git up real close and wave slow--slow--slow----”