“That’s the idea,” said Clarence, joyfully. “No one will miss him, for those who have seen him since he came back think he is a ghost. Where can we take him and keep him safe until he tells us what we want to know?”
“I reckon my tater-hole is as good a place as any,” said Godfrey, after thinking a moment. “I don’t have nothing to put in it now, an’ nobody ever goes nigh it.”
“Can we lock him up there?”
“No, but we can tie him up, an’ that will do jest as well. Howsomever, I don’t much keer to go into any sich business as that, Mr. Clarence. S’pose it should come out on us?”
“How in the world is it going to come out on us?” asked Clarence, impatiently. “You’ll not tell, will you?”
“No, sar,” answered Godfrey, with great emphasis. “I couldn’t live here if I did.”
“Well, I shall not tell, either. You may be sure of that; so I don’t see how it can become known. We can starve old Jordan into opening his mouth, and when he gets ready to tell us where the barrel is, we’ll dig it up, divide the contents, and the first boat that comes along will take me away from here. I don’t care whether I go up or down the river, so long as I have my pockets full of money.”
“An’ what’ll I do?” asked Godfrey.
“You can do as you please. You want to stay here and spend your share, don’t you?”
“But what’ll I do with the nigger?”