"Ah suttinly is mighty glad yo' is come up yere to live, Zachariah."
"Look here, gal,—don' yo' go countin' on me too much," said he, suspiciously. "Ah got all Ah c'n do 'tendin' to mah own wo'k 'thout comin' over yander an' hulpin' yo'—"
"Lan's sakes, man, 'tain't mah look-out ef yo' come over yere an' tote mah clo'se-basket an' ev'thing 'round fo' me,—no, suh! Ah ain' nev' ast yo', has Ah? All Ah does is to hole Cato so he won't chaw yo' laig off when yo' come botherin' me to please 'low yo' to hulp me,—das all Ah do. An' lemme tell yo', nigger, dat ain' no easy job. 'Ca'se ef dere's one t'ing Cato do enjoy hit's dark meat,—yas, suh, hit's come so he won't even look at light meat no mo', he so sick o' feedin' off'n dese yere white shin-bones."
"Well, den, why is yo' glad Ah come up yere to live?" demanded Zachariah defensively.
"'Ca'se o' dis yere ole Black Hawk."
"Ah don' know nuffin' 'bout no ole Black Hawk."
"Yo' all gwine to know 'bout him mighty quick," said she solemnly. "He's on de rampage. Scalpin' an' burnin' white folks at de stake an' des wallerin' in blood. Yas, suh,—Ah suttinly ain't gwine feel so skeert o' dat ole Black Hawk 'long as yo' is livin' right nex' do', Zachariah."
"Wha' yo' all talkin' about?"
"Marse Joe,—he de sheriff dis yere county,—he done tole ole Mis' Gwyn dis evenin' all de news 'bout dat ole Black Hawk. Yas, suh,—ole Black Hawk he on de warpath. All de Injuns in dis yere—"
"Injuns?" gulped Zachariah.