"Howdy, neighbor?"
The big yellow dog was fawning at his feet in a second. A quavering old voice came from behind the light of the lantern.
"Howdy, Massa," it said. "Is I intrudin' on you?"
An old, old negro shambled up to him, the lantern in one hand, a ragged hat in another. He bowed his crown of white kinky hair respectfully before the white boy. There was no enemy to be feared here. The boy's heart bounded with relief and he laughed as he answered:
"No, Uncle, you're not intruding. I'm glad to see you. I'm sure you'll help us. Come here, Morris."
Morris scrambled up the bank, the wettest man in the world. His eyeballs shone as he neared them. They shone still more as he stood before the old negro, held out his hand, and said:
"Unk' Moses, I'se po'erful glad to meet up wid you."
Uncle Moses almost dropped his rude lantern in his surprise.
"Well, ef it ain't Massa Pinckney's Morris! Howdy, Morris? How cum so as you-uns is here, a-hidin'? I know'd de way dat ar Towser wuz a-actin' when he dun cum home dat dere wuz sum-un in de bush out hyar, but I neber s'picioned t'wuz you, Morris. Is you dun run away?"
The situation was soon explained. Uncle Moses had already become familiar with it. Hunted men, both white and black, were no novelty to him by that time. He had helped many of them on their scared way. Too old to work, he lived alone in a little cabin on the outskirts of his owner's plantation. He tilled a tiny plot of vegetables when "de rumatiz" permitted and with these and some rations from "de big house" he eked out a scanty living. This owner's self-respect had not prevented his working Moses through all a long life, with no payment except food and lodging, and behind these always the shadow of the whip. But the slave's self-respect required him to work for the hand that fed him, so long as failing strength permitted. All he could do now was to scare crows from the cornfield, but that he could do well, for his one suit of the ragged remains of what had been several other people's clothes made him a perfect scarecrow. Besides his vegetables, he had some chickens, a sacred possession. "Old Unk' Mose" was known and respected through all the countryside. No chicken-thief ever came to his cabin. The kind old patriarch was reaping the reward of a kind long life. He dwelt in peace.