He had not gone much over half a mile before he saw through an opening a negro gazing wonderingly at him. "Come here, my good fellow," he cried.
The man approached slowly, cautiously.
"I won't hurt you," Graham resumed; "indeed you can see that I'm in your power. Won't you help me?"
"Dunno, mas'r," was the non-committal reply.
"Are you in favor of Lincoln's men or the Confederates?" "Dunno, mas'r.
It 'pends."
"It depends upon what?"
"On whedder you'se a Linkum man or 'Federate."
"Well, then, here's the truth. The Lincoln men are your best friends, if you've sense enough to know it; and I'm one of them. I was in the fight off there yesterday, and am trying to escape."
"Oh golly! I'se sense enough;" and the genial gleam of the man's ivory was an omen of good to Graham. "But," queried the negro, "how you wear 'Federate coat and hat?"
"Because I was left for dead, and mine were stolen. I had to wear something. The Confederates don't wear blue trousers like these."