The air of smiling nonchalance with which he approached, proclaimed him still ignorant of the event which had cast its melancholy shadow over the house. There was just perceptible the slightest expression of surprise, at finding the outer gate shut, chained, and barred.
It had not been the custom of the hacienda—at least during its present proprietary.
The sombre countenance of the black, encountered within the shadow of the saguan, strengthened Zeb’s surprise—sufficiently to call forth an inquiry.
“Why, Pluto, ole fellur! whatsomdiver air the matter wi’ ye? Yur lookin’ like a ’coon wi’ his tail chopped off—clost to the stump at thet! An’ why air the big gate shet an barred—in the middle o’ breakfist time? I hope thur hain’t nuthin’ gone astray?”
“Ho! ho! Mass ’Tump, dat’s jess what dar hab goed stray—dat’s preecise de ting, dis chile sorry t’ say—berry much goed stray. Ho! berry, berry much!”
“Heigh!” exclaimed the hunter, startled at the lugubrious tone. “Thur air sommeat amiss? What is’t, nigger? Tell me sharp quick. It can’t be no wuss than yur face shows it. Nothin’ happened to yur young mistress, I hope? Miss Lewaze—”
“Ho—ho! nuffin’ happen to de young Missa Looey. Ho—ho! Bad enuf ’thout dat. Ho! de young missa inside de house yar, ’Tep in, Mass’ ’Tump. She tell you de drefful news herseff.”
“Ain’t yur master inside, too? He’s at home, ain’t he?”
“Golly, no. Dis time no. Massa ain’t ’bout de house at all nowhar. He wa’ hya a’most a quarrer ob an hour ago. He no hya now. He off to de hoss prairas—wha de hab de big hunt ’bout a momf ago. You know, Mass’ Zeb?”
“The hoss purayras! What’s tuk him thur? Who’s along wi’ him?”