“Ah!” cried the lieutenant eagerly. “How do you know, darkie?”
“Massa Huggin put foots in big hard boot. Caesar know um—kick Caesar. ‘Get outah way, black dog!’ he say.”
As he spoke the black went through something of a pantomime so perfectly that the lieutenant and Roberts burst out laughing. Murray’s countenance remained unchanged, and he met the black’s eyes gravely, and noted their fierce aspect as his brow wrinkled up and his thick, fleshy, protuberant lips were drawn away from the beautifully perfect white teeth.
“Hurt pore black niggah, massa,” he said, rather piteously. “Kill some niggah. Massa Huggin sabage. Pore niggah die dead. Hurt Caesar sometime. Wouldn’t die.”
“Well, go on, my lad,” said the lieutenant; and the black continued his object-lesson.
“Massa Allen say walk now. Look at um foots. Lilly shoe dah, big boot, hard boot, dah. One boot, ’noder boot. Massa Huggin say Come along, sah. Look dah. Walk ’long dah, and niggah foots walk over um. Lot o’ niggah foots walk all over cover um up.”
“Well,” said the lieutenant, “now you have found out the trail so well, lead on and let’s overtake them.”
“Ah!” cried the black excitedly, for he had suddenly caught sight of something at which he bounded and caught it up to hold it before him and gaze at it with starting eyes.
“What does that mean, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant, in a low tone, his attention having been thoroughly taken up by the intelligent black’s behaviour.
“I don’t quite know, sir. It’s a soft piece of plantain stalk notched at the edge in a peculiar way. Look, sir.”