This was at breakfast, after the slackers had scattered. He had purposely stayed in bed late in order to avoid them. He now spoke while the negro noisily cleaned his pots.
"Well, I've pumped July about all the trails leading out he knows of," said Hubert, "and all we've got to do is to make a choice and beat it at the first chance."
Suddenly the negro turned from his pots and planted himself in front of the two boys, his face very serious.
"Cap'n Ted," he began, "you reckon I kin 'pend on what you said 'bout gittin' a cook's job behind de lines in dat waw?"
"I can't say for certain, July, but I think you can."
"Well, I got to tek de risk anyhow," the negro announced with an air of finality. "I's gwine out o' dis swamp. I's done wid dat gang o' white trash. I got my dose. I gwine out wid you boys."
"That's great," cried Hubert. "But what's happened, July?"
"Dis mawnin' when I was workin' de bes' I knowd how an' givin' dem men good vittles, dey up an' made fun o' my hair. Dat-ere Sweet Jackson 'lowed dat a nigger wasn't a rale human pusson because, stid o' hair, he had wool on his haid. Den dey all looked at me an' laughed till dey shook. I wished I could 'a' tole 'em dey was a liar and a-busted 'em wide open!"
"That was very unkind," said Ted, struggling hard, as did Hubert, not to laugh.
"I reckon you boys done had all you want o' dat gang yo'sef," said July, "an' in as big a hurry to git away fum yuh as I is."