This complication caused Joe Maxwell to laugh until he could scarcely catch his breath. But at last he managed to control his voice.
“What in the name of goodness are you two trying to do?”
“Name er de Lord!” exclaimed Mink, “who is you, anyhow?”
“Dat what I like ter know,” said Injun Bill, in a surly tone.
“Why, you’ve just been talking about me,” replied Joe. “I lay there on the shucks and heard you give me a great name.”
“Is dat you, little marster?” cried Mink. “Well, suh! Ef dat don’t beat my time! How come you sech a fur ways fum yo’ surroundin’s?”
Joe explained as briefly as possible that he was lost.
“Well, well, well!” said Mink, by way of comment. “You sholy gimme a turn dat time. Little mo’ an’ I’d a thought de ole boy had me. Ef I’d a bin by myse’f when I hear dat callin’ I lay I’d’a to’ down de whole side er de house. Dish yer nigger ’long wid me, little marster, he name Injun Bill. He say—”
“’Sh—sh!” said Injun Bill, softly. Then in a whisper—“watch out!”
Joe was about to say something, but suddenly he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The negroes by a noiseless movement stepped close against the wall. Joe lay still. The new-comers entered the door without hesitation. They had evidently been there before.