"Yes, that is what the lawyers here told me," said the Agent. "I was going to have the man arrested, but they said it would be folly to bring the case to trial. The woman's testimony would not be believed."
"Yeow've got power ter git a man punished fur sellin' whiskey to Injuns, I notice," broke in Aunt Ri; "hain't yer? I see yeour man 'n' the marshal here arrestin' 'em pooty lively last month; they sed 'twas yeour doin'; yeow was a gwine ter prossacute every livin' son o' hell -- them wuz thar words -- thet sold whiskey ter Injuns."
"That's so!" said the Agent. "So I am; I am determined to break up this vile business of selling whiskey to Indians. It is no use trying to do anything for them while they are made drunk in this way; it's a sin and a shame."
"Thet's so, I allow ter yeow," said Aunt Ri. "Thar ain't any gainsayin' thet. But ef yeow've got power ter git a man put in jail fur sellin' whiskey 't 'n Injun, 'n' hain't got power to git him punished ef he goes 'n' kills thet Injun, 't sems ter me thar's suthin' cur'us abaout thet."
"That is just the trouble in my position here, Aunt Ri," he said. "I have no real power over my Indians, as I ought to have."
"What makes yer call 'em yeour Injuns?" broke in Aunt Ri.
The Agent colored. Aunt Ri was a privileged character, but her logical method of questioning was inconvenient.
"I only mean that they are under my charge," he said. "I don't mean that they belong to me in any way."