Joe went in and explored the inside as carefully as he could in the darkness. A wood-rat or flying-squirrel rattled along the rafters as he entered, and the loose puncheons of which the floor was made bumped up and down as he walked across them. In one corner, as he went groping about, he found a pile of shucks—corn-husks—and straw, and he judged that the old cabin had sometimes been used as a temporary barn. After satisfying himself that no other person or creature had taken shelter there, Joe tried to close the door. He found this to be a difficult matter. The sill of the house had settled so that the door was on the floor. He pushed it as far as it would go, and then groped his way back to the shucks and quickly made a bed of them. He was fagged out, and the shucks and straw made a comfortable pallet—so comfortable, indeed, that by the time he had made up his mind that it was a pleasant thing to lie there and listen to the rain rushing down on the weather-beaten roof, he was fast asleep.
How long he slept he did not know, but suddenly he awoke to discover that he was not the only person who had sought shelter in the cabin. The rain was still falling on the roof, but he could hear some one talking in a low tone. He lay quite still and listened with all his ears. He soon discovered that the new-comers were negroes, whether two or three he could not tell. Presently he could distinguish what they said. The storm had ceased so that it no longer drowned their voices.
“I tell you what, mon,” said one, “ole Injun Bill kin run ef he is chunky.”
“Lor’! I had ter run ef I gwine fer keep up wid old Mink.” said the other.
“Bless you!” responded the first voice, “I kin run when I git de invertation, else ole Bill Locke an’ his nigger dogs would a done cotch me long ago.”
“Dey ain’t been atter me,” said the second voice, “but I’m a spectin’ un um eve’y day, an’ when dey does—gentermen! I’m a-gwine ter scratch gravel! You hear what I tell you!”
“I come so fas’,” remarked the first voice, “dat all dem ar buckeyes what I had done bounce outer my pocket.”
“What you gwine fer do wid so many buckeyes?” asked the second voice.
“Who? Me! Oh, I wuz des savin’ um up fer dat ar white boy what stay ’long wid de printin’ machine,” said the first voice. “He holp me ’long one time. Harbert, he say dat white boy is des ez good ter niggers ez ef dey all b’long ter im, an’ he say he got a head on ’im. Dat what Harbert say.”
“I bin see ’im,” said the second voice. “I don’t like white folks myse’f, but I speck dat boy got good in ’im. He come fum town.”