“Who dar?” asked the negro, looking all around, as if he could not make up his mind where the voice came from. “Who's dat callin' Sam?”
“It's me. Here I am, up here on top of this cabin,” replied Bob, slapping the shingles with his open hand to show the negro where he was.
“Wal, if dat ain't de beatenest thing!” exclaimed Sam. “What you two gemmen doin' up dar?”
“O, we were coming through here last night, taking a short cut through the fields, you know, and the dogs discovered us and drove us up here.”
“I thought I heerd 'em fursin,” said Sam; “but I thought mebbe they'd done cotch a 'coon.”
“Well, call 'em off and let us go home,” exclaimed Lester, impatiently.
“Dat's impossible, dat is. Dem dar dogs don't keer no mo' fur us black uns dan nuffin, dem dogs don't. Can't call 'em off, kase why, dey won't mind us. Have to go arter some of de white folks, suah!”
“Go on and get somebody, then, and be quick about it,” said Bob, desperately. “And, Sam, if you can find Bert send him down. We want to see him particularly, and it will save us walking up to the house.”
The negro went back into his cabin, but came out again a few minutes later and started up the road toward the house.