The fact that Aaron made no comment on his remarks had no effect on Uncle Andy. He continued to talk incessantly, and when he paused for a moment it was to take breath and not to hear what his companion had to say.
"Jim Simmons. Huh. I wish Sally Ward could git de chance fer ter lay de law down ter dat man." (Uncle Andy had his wish later in the day). "She'd tell 'im de news. She'd make 'im 'shamed er hisse'f—gwine trollopin' roun' de country huntin' niggers en dem what ain't niggers, en all b'longin' ter Gossett. How come dey ain't no niggers but de Gossett niggers in de woods? Tell me dat. You may go all 'roun' here for forty mile, en holler at eve'y plantation gate en ax 'em how many niggers dey got in de woods, en dey'll tell you na'er one. Dey'll tell you ids twel you holler at de Gossett gate an' dar dey'll holler back: Forty-'leven in de woods an' spectin' mo' ter foller. Now, how come dat? When you stoop in de road fer ter git a drink er water you kin allers tell when dey's sump'n dead up de creek."
Still Aaron swept the water back with his oar, and still the bateau went up stream. One mile—two miles—two miles and a half. At last Aaron headed the boat toward the shore.
"What you gwine ter lan' on the same side wid Jim Simmons fer?" Uncle Andy inquired indignantly. "Ain't you got no sense? Don't you know he'll ketch you ef you do dat? You reckon he gwine ter foller you ter de landin' en den turn right 'roun' in his tracks en go back?"
"I'll hide in the big swamp," replied Aaron.
"Hide!" exclaimed Uncle Andy. "Don't you know dey done foun' out whar you stays at? A'er one er dem Gossett niggers'll swap der soul's salvation fer a bellyful er vittles. Ef dey wuz ter ketch you des dry so, I'd be sorry fer you, but ef you gwine ter run right in de trap, you'll hatter fin' some un else fer ter cry atter you. You put me in min' er de rabbit. Man come 'long wid his dogs, en jump de rabbit out er his warm bed, en he done gone. Dogs take atter him, but dey ain't nowhar. He done out er sight. Den dey trail 'im en trail 'im, but dat ain't do no good. Rabbit done gone. De man, he let de dogs trail. He take his stan' right at de place whar rabbit jump fum. He prime he gun, en wink he eye. De dogs trail, en trail, en trail, en it seem like dey gwine out er hearin'. Man stan' right still en wink de t'er eye. En, bless gracious! 'fo' you know it, bang go de gun en down drap de rabbit. Stidder gwine on 'bout his business, he done come back en de man bag 'im. Dat 'zackly de way you gwine do—but go on, go on! De speckled pullet hollered shoo ter hawk, but what good did dat do?"
By this time the bateau had floated under a tree that leaned from the river bank over the water. Aaron laid his oar in the boat and steadied it by holding to a limb. Then he turned to Uncle Andy.
"Maybe some day I can help you. So long!"
He lifted himself into the tree. As he did so a dog ran down the bank whining. "Wait!" cried Uncle Andy. "Wait, en look out! I hear a dog in de bushes dar. Ef it's a Simmons dog drap back in de boat en I'll take you right straight to Sally Ward."
"It's my dog," said Aaron. "He's been waiting for me." It was Rambler.