"I saw Kwamudi looking at him a few minutes ago," continued West. "There was hate in his eyes all right, and there was something worse."
"Oh, well," said Baine, "you got to treat those niggers rough; and as for Kwamudi, Tom can tie a can to him and appoint some one else headman."
"Those slave driving days are over, Baine; and the blacks know it. Orman'll get in plenty of trouble for this if the blacks report it, and don't fool yourself about Kwamudi. He's no ordinary headman; he's a big chief in his own country, and most of our blacks are from his own tribe. If he says quit, they'll quit; and don't you forget it. We'd be in a pretty mess if those fellows quit on us."
"Well, what are we goin' to do about it? Tom ain't asking our advice that I've ever noticed."
"You could do something, Naomi," said West, turning to the girl.
"Who, me? What could I do?"
"Well, Tom likes you a lot. He'd listen to you."
"Oh, nerts! It's his own funeral. I got troubles of my own."
"It may be your funeral, too," said West.
"Blah!" said the girl. "All I want to do is get out of here. How much longer I got to sit here and fight flies? Say, where's Stanley? I haven't seen him all day."