“Are you old Jordan?” he demanded.
There was no answer returned by the negro, who was as passive in the hands of his captors as if he had been a lump of clay.
The Capture of “Ole Jordan.”
“This won’t do, old fellow,” said Clarence, angrily. “You can’t play off on us in this way. You had better open your mouth, or we’ll take you straight to the general. Perhaps he can find means to make you tell what you are doing in his potato-patch at this time of night.”
“O, that ain’t no way to talk to a nigger, Mr. Clarence,” said Godfrey. “I knows who he is, an’ I can soon make him speak,” he added, drawing back his shovel preparatory to punching old Jordan in the ribs with it.
“Hol’ on dar, boss!” cried the prisoner.
“Thar, now, what did I tell ye?” exclaimed Godfrey, triumphantly. “Don’t sound much like ole Jordan’s voice, though!”
“Now that you have found your tongue, I want to talk to you,” said Clarence. “Would you like to make a thousand dollars?”
“O, I’m goin’ to make a heap more’n dat, boss,” replied the negro.