For, paying no more heed to his companions for the moment, the black began to search about to the right of the trail, till he suddenly bounded on for a few paces and caught up a piece of green cane about six inches long and evidently scratched in a special manner.
“What’s that, Caesar?” asked the middy.
The black, who was gazing at the piece of cane with fixed and staring eyes which seemed to glow, started at the lad’s address, and pressed forward to look him questioningly in the eyes, hesitating.
Then he smiled and nodded.
“Massa buccra. Good Bri’sh sailor. Come set pore niggah free. Him no tell Massa Huggin. Him no kill pore black darkie. Iss, Caesar tell um,” he whispered now, with his lips so close that the lad felt the hot breath hiss into his ear. “Dat Obeah, massa. Dat black man’s Obeah. Come along now Caesar know. Find fetish. Plenty many black boy speak soon.”
“But you are going the wrong way,” said Murray, clapping the black upon the shoulder to draw him back.
“No, sah. Caesar go right way. Way Obeah tell um.”
“But Mr Allen: we want to follow Mr Allen.”
“No can, sah. Not now. Come back. Not time yet.”
“But you said that this Huggins would kill Mr Allen now that he has got him away.”