Sam breathed heavily but did not answer. At last with difficulty he answered a gruff, “Nope!”
“What was it, Sam? Won’t you tell me?”
“It would be snitchin’.”
“Not to me, Sam. You know I belong to you all.”
“But you’ve got new notions.”
“Yes,” admitted Michael, “I can’t help that, but I don’t go back on you, do I?”
“No, you don’t go back on we’uns, that’s so. But you don’t like we’s doin’s.”
“Never mind. Tell me, Sam. I think I must know.”
“He kep a gamein’ den—”
“Oh, Sam!” Michael’s voice was stricken, and his great athletic hand gripped Sam’s hard skinny one, and Sam in the darkness gripped back.