"Blamed if I don't believe you are my runaway nigger!" Mr. Gossett exclaimed.
"I smell whiskey," said Aaron.
"Confound the stuff! I never will get rid of it."
Mr. Gossett put his hands in his pocket and walked around again.
"Your name is Aaron," he suggested. Receiving no reply, he said: "If your name is Aaron you belong to me; if you belong to me get in the buggy and let's go home. You've been in the woods long enough."
"Too long," replied Aaron.
"That's a fact," Mr. Gossett assented. "Come on and go home with me. If you're afeard of me you can put that idea out of your mind. I swear you shan't be hit a lick. You are the only nigger I ever had any respect for, and I'll be blamed if I know how I came to have any for you after the way you've treated me. But if you'll promise not to run off any more I'll treat you right. You're a good hand and a good man."
Mr. Gossett paused and felt in his pockets, evidently searching for something. "Have you seen a pistol lying loose anywhere around here?" he asked.
"It's all safe," replied Aaron.