If I could get his body to dissect, I'd give one of the finest kegs of whiskey in my cellar." The postmaster looked at Belton and said: "Zakeland," for such was the doctor's name, "you are right.

He is a fine looking chap, and he looks a little tony.

If we 'nigger rulers' are ever called in to attend to him we will not burn him nor shoot him to pieces.

We will kill him kinder decent and let you have him to dissect.

I shall not fail to call for that whiskey to treat the boys." So saying they parted.
Belton did not hear this murderous conversation respecting himself.