Behind her, on a large boulder of rock, sat Warren Rody!
Nelatu was on the point of rushing forward, when he was stayed by the negro’s hand clutching his arm.
“Not yet, massa,” he whispered, “you’d be shot afore you get two steps in dar, and dis poor ole nigga would nebba get away ’gain. Let me go speak first, and gib Massa Rody de signal; and den I’ll find a way to bring him out to you. Don’t you see that’ll be de best plan to fix him?”
“I cannot trust you from my sight. Take your hand off my arm! let me go!”
“Oh, massa, I shall be ruined, and murdered complete. Don’t you see dat afore you reach him he’d see you and fire? De ole nigga’s plan am de best. Let me bring de fox out ob his hole!”
Crookleg spoke reasonably.
Nelatu might, it is true, have easily killed Warren from where he lay, but his sister’s presence, Wacora’s command, and a certain reluctance to shed blood, stayed his hand.
“Well, then, do it, but on conditions.”
“What conditions, Massa Injun? Name ’em, and I’se obey.”
“That you bring him away from my sister’s side out here into the open ground; that every word you speak shall be loud enough for me to hear. Go!”