“All right, uncle. Come on.”
“What’s de matter wid you two?”
“There’s nothing the matter with me,” answered Hopkins, “but this boy is shot. Can you do anything for him?”
“Kin I do sumpin fur de soldiers?” exclaimed the negro. “’Course I kin, kase didn’t dey do a heap fur me when de wah was here? I reckon mebbe I’d best take him down to de house whar de women folks is.”
“Handle him carefully,” said Hopkins. “He’s got a bad leg.”
The negro, who was a giant in strength as well as stature, raised the wounded boy in his arms as easily as if he had been an infant, and carried him up the track until he came to a road which led back into the woods where his cabin was situated. Here they found several colored people of both sexes who had gathered for mutual protection, and who greeted the boys with loud exclamations of wonder and sympathy.
“Hush yer noise dar,” commanded the giant, who answered to the name of Robinson. “Don’t yer know dat dem strikers is all fru de country, an’ dat some of ’em was hyar not mor’n ten minutes ago?”
“Not here at this house?” exclaimed Hopkins, in alarm.