Time was passing and Shin realized that he must get some sort of action promptly. He turned toward the portion of the town occupied by the whites, and with renewed hope began to solicit loans from his white friends. After an hour of activity, running from place to place as busy as a bird dog, he was in possession of fifty cents, and had told about fifty different lies to get that much.
“Dar ain’t but one mo’ hope,” he said, as he eyed with disgust the handful of nickels he had accumulated. “Dat hope is Skeeter Butts. Ef he don’t see de light, den de night is done sottled down on me shore enough.”
With eager steps he hastened to the Hen-Scratch saloon.
III
DEEP LAID PLANS.
Shin found Skeeter Butts sitting behind the bar in the Hen-Scratch saloon counting a roll of soiled and poisonous-looking money. The sight gladdened the eyes of the poverty-stricken negro.
“Skeeter,” he exulted, “dat little wad of money shows dat you an’ me is gwine to git rich.”
“How come?” Skeeter asked. “You ain’t got no claimance on dis wad.”
“I’se got one real good tip.”
“Explode it in my y-ear,” Skeeter exclaimed eagerly.
“Pap Curtain say bet on Skipper.”