“No, you don’t,” I said; “because you know I believe you, and have often seen that you have wonderful eyes.”
“Eh? Mass’ George tink Pomp got wunful eye?”
“Yes; you can see twice as well in the dark as I can.”
“No; Mass’ George tink Pomp ’tupid lil nigger; no good ’tall. Pomp go run away.”
“I shall call you a stupid little nigger if you talk like that,” I said. “Don’t be foolish. I hope the Indians will not come any more, and that we shall soon go back home.”
“Injum coming; Pomp see um. Dey hide; lie flat down on um ’tummuck so; and creep and crawl um.”
He illustrated his meaning, but crouched down by me again directly.
“Dat on’y Pomp fun,” he whispered. “Pomp nebber run away from Mass’ George, and ah!—look dah!”
He pointed away into the darkness so earnestly that I stared in that direction, but for some little time I could see nothing. Then, all at once, I made out a figure which came cautiously toward where we sat, but turned off and went round to the opposite side of the heap out of our sight, and it was evident that we were not seen.
I was going to speak, but just as the words were on my lips I recognised Morgan, who must have just been relieved; and as I fully grasped now where we were, I turned cold as ice, and a peculiar feeling of moisture came in the palms of my hands.