“Sol, you talk real foolish at times. How could we be took by the Injuns an’ be burned alive at the stake, an’ not know nothin’ ’bout it?”
“Don’t ask me, Tom. Thar are lots o’ strange things that I don’t pretend to understan’, an’ me a smart man, too. Here, you, Jim Hart! Wake up! Shake them long legs an’ arms o’ yours an’ cook our breakfast!”
Silent Tom began to laugh, not audibly, but his lips moved in such a manner that they betrayed risibility. The shiftless one looked at him suspiciously.
“Tom Ross,” he said, “what you laughin’ at?”
“You told Long Jim to cook breakfast, didn’t you?”
“I shorely did, an’ I meant it, too.”
“He ain’t.”
“Why ain’t he?”
“Because he ain’t.”
“Ef he ain’t, then why ain’t he?”