Abner assured him that the packet should not be opened while he lived, and left, promising to return.
His multifarious duties demanded his attention, and when he returned to the hut Yellow Steve was dead.
It was late that night when Abner found time to return to his head-quarters. He drew his chair close to a lighted lamp, and, breaking the seal of the packet, he drew forth the manuscript and read.
CHAPTER XXX. YELLOW STEVE'S MYSTERIOUS STORY.
"My name is Jeff. Winnings, and I was born in the State of South Carolina, a slave owned by Wade Hampton. My father, I have been told, was a Seminole Indian. I have little recollection of my mother, as I was torn from her, when but little more than two years old, and sold to a man in Kentucky. Here I lived until the age of twelve, when, my master dying, his property was divided, and I was taken by a son of his to Missouri, in the county of Pike. I found this man an excellent master, he always treated me kindly, and, as I picked up a little knowledge of books, he encouraged me and furnished me means to improve my mind after my day's work was done.
"It was through his kindness, that I, a slave, learned to read and write, which now enables me to record the history of my dark career, far darker than heaven made my face. I lived with him until I was eighteen years of age, and was at one time well known about Bowling Green, Missouri, as Yellow Jeff. Then my master became financially embarrassed, and I, with his other slaves, was sold at a sheriff's sale.
"A professional negro-buyer, one of the most detestable class of men that God ever created, purchased me, and I was taken to North Carolina and sold to Mr. Henry Tompkins—"
"Great God!" gasped Abner, the manuscript falling from his hands. "Was that man connected with my Uncle's murder?" He sprang to his feet and paced the floor, but finally forced himself to pick up the manuscript and resume.
"Mr. Tompkins was a man of very hasty temper and, although he was of Northern birth, he was a harsh master.