"Man! I drawed dat han' spike on dem Abolishioners an' I says: 'You low doun stinkin' po' white trash. Des try ter lay de weight er yo' han' on my marster er missis,—an' I'll lan' yo' in de middle of er spell er sickness'—"
"And they took you prisoner."
"Yassah."
"I see."
"Dey starts ter shoot me fust! But den dey say I wuzn't wuf de powder an' lead hit'ud take ter kill me."
"And you escaped?"
"Na sah, not den. Dey make me go wid 'em, wher er no. But I git loose byme bye an' crawl inter dat patch er trees doun dar by de ribber—"
"We found him there," Green nodded.
"Yassah, I mak' up my min' dat dey's have ter burn de woods an' sif de ashes for' dey ebber see me ergin."
Stuart's boyish laughter rang without restraint.