Suspicious of danger, the settler turned sharply, to see Pete slouching away with his eyes on the ground; so, after an angry word or two at the dog, the master went on again, leaving Nic hoeing away, thinking how dreary the days would pass if he were to have no better companionship than that of the black.
Half-an-hour passed before the slave came slowly along the row Nic was hoeing—for the waving growth completely shut them from sight—and upon reaching his fellow-prisoner’s side he made a few scrapes with his hoe and then stopped, with his black face shining as he showed his teeth.
“You had better go on with your work,” said Nic quietly; “the master will be back.”
“Not a day, sah,” said the black. “Him going get boat and go up ribber ’long o’ Massa Saunder.”
Nic looked at the man sharply as he uttered the word boat. Wouldn’t it be possible to hear from him where the boat was kept?
“Berry hot. Take four boy row de boat, and tell Sam and Zerks load de gun and shoot ebbery white body who done work.”
“Ah!” said Nic.
“Dat so, sah,” said the man, laughing. “No shoot black fellow.”
He said no more, but went on chopping away in the hot sunshine far faster than Nic could manage, and the intense heat did not seem to affect him. For it was so hot that the prisoner felt exhausted, early as it was in the day, the tall growth around keeping off the breeze.
But he worked away, with the perspiration streaming down his face, thinking what an opportunity this would be for taking to the woods or the open country, but with his heart sinking as he dwelt upon the possibility of Humpy Dee and the others fighting against such a plan from pure malice. And besides, Pete was not there to discuss the matter. There were the armed blacks, too, and the dogs.