“By going’ to a sto’, ob co’se. Den yo’ know w’ut happen?”
“What?” demanded Tom.
“W’ite fo’ks, dey done tie er rope ’roun’ mah neck an’ stretch it. Yassuh. Yo’ see, I’m a plumb bad niggah,” Kink added, with a strong touch of pride. “W’ite fo’ks down ’round’ de bay, dey t’ink Ah’m good fo’ nothin’ but hang up. Wi’te fo’ks powahful ’fraid ob Kink!”
“As soon as I am really missed there’ll be a lot of white folks down this way, I reckon,” began Tom. “You see——”
Then, purposely, he paused. For a few seconds he looked as though he were trying to conceal his thought. Next he peered, as though covertly, northward under the trees.
When he saw Kink regarding him, Tom Halstead pretended to look wholly at the ground. Presently, however, he raised his glance to peer once more northward. So stealthy did the motor boat boy seem about the whole transaction that Kink, accustomed to being hunted through the Everglades, found himself peering, also, in the direction from which chase would come.
The first time he glanced, Kink turned again, almost immediately. But Halstead was sitting in the same place, so motionless and innocent, that the negro ventured another and longer look to the northward in the hope of seeing that which had appeared to give the boy such keen pleasure.
Like a flash, now, though noiseless as a cat, Tom Halstead leaped to his feet. Before Kink had thought of turning, the young skipper launched himself through the air.
He struck Kink a blow that sent that fellow sprawling. Like a panther in the spring, Halstead bore his enemy to the ground, striking savagely while he wrested the rifle from the negro.
“Now, not a sound out of you!” warned Halstead, cocking the rifle and holding the muzzle not many inches from the fellow’s head. “Are you going to be good?” he demanded, in a cool voice that was threatening in its very quietness.