“’Scaped, mass’! whar did um go?”
“It took shelter in a hollow log,—the very one on which we are seated.”
The eyes of the negro sparkled with delight.
“Dam!” exclaimed he, starting to his feet; “mass’ say snake in dis yeer log? Dam!” he repeated, “if do varmint yeer in dis log, Gabr’l soon fetch ’im out.”
“What! you have no axe?”
“Dis nigga axe no want for dat.”
“How, then, can you get at the snake? Do you intend to set fire to the log?”
“Ho! fire no good. Dat log burn whole month. Fire no good: smoke white men see,—b’lieve ’im runaway,—den come de blood-dogs. Dis nigga daren’t make no fire.”
“How, then?”
“Wait a bit, mass’ Edwad, you see. Dis nigga fetch de rattlesnake right out ob ’im boots. Please, young mass’, keep still; don’t speak ’bove de breff: ole varmint, he hear ebbery word.”