He seemed to enjoy the fright he had given the maiden; for, after having ceased to speak, his gurgling cachinnation was continued.
It was some time before Sansuta recovered presence of mind sufficient to speak to the black deformity before her.
“What do you want?” was all she could gasp.
“Ha! ha! ha! It warn’t dis ugly ole nigga what the big chief’s chile ’pected to meet—war it? No, I know it warn’t. But don’t be skeared, ole Crookleg won’t hurt ye. He’s as innercent as a angel. He! he! he! as a angel.”
Here another caper, similar to the one with which he had introduced himself, placed him in a still more impish attitude.
The Indian girl had by this recovered from her first surprise, seeing that some attributes of humanity appertained to her strange interlocutor.
“Again, what do you want? Let me pass. I must return to the village.”
“Gorry, an it arn’t Crookleg dat will hinder you,” the negro answered, standing directly in her path. “He only want say a word to you—dat is if you is de beautiful Sansuta, de darter of de chief?”
“I am the chief’s daughter; that is my name. I am Sansuta!”
“Den de young gen’l’m’n tole dis old darkey true wen he say I find you down by de live-oak grove at sunset—he told de old nigga true.”