“That Indian that was in the cave thinks a great deal of you. Go and plead with him.”
“But dat ’ere Gaylor said he hated me.”
“What if he did; if you can save his life, don’t you wish to do it?”
Jim was greatly agitated, and rubbed a tear from his eye.
“You’re right Ned; dar’s sumfin’ in me dat tells me I ought to do it, an’ by de help ob God I will!”
“Be quick then, for there is no time to lose.”
The negro needed no urging, for he was prompted by the most powerful of motives—Conscience, the “still small voice,” which, if listened to, guides us all aright.
When he reached the camp, matters were about the same as Inwood had left them.
“Mr. Gaylor,” said Jim, speaking abruptly, “I’ve come to see if I can sabe you.”
The man turned around and looked at him silently for a moment, as if unable to comprehend what he meant. Then he slowly shook his head from side to side.