“They are,” said Osceola with conviction. “If we are stopped, there’s nothing for it but to shoot our way out and beat it down to the plane. Maybe we’ll make it and maybe we won’t—— Anyway, we’ll have lived like human beings again for a few hours—and that’s something!”
“You’re right there, old man!” Bill pushed back his chair. “Come in here, Sam,” he called. Then as the darkey appeared through the swinging door, “How’d you like to take a hop, Sam?”
“Oh, suh,—if you on’y could take me with you!” The old man’s voice was husky with excitement and longing.
“If we go, you go,” declared Bill.
“God’ull bless yo’all for dis, Marse Bolton. ‘Deed he will. I done give up all hope o’ seein’ Lize an’ de chilluns long ago. I——”
Bill stood up and clapped him on the shoulder.
“That’s all right, uncle. If things go as we hope, we’ll all be seeing our folks soon. Go into the room I slept in. There’s a suitcase in there, and there’s one in the other bedroom, too. Pack them with anything you please, and follow us down to the dock with both bags when we leave here. Carry them aboard the plane and forget to come ashore. I’ll find a place you can stow away, never fear.”
He cut short the old darkey’s thanks and sent him hurrying off to pack. Then, after rummaging about, he found paper and pencil. A moment or two later he tossed the note he had written on to the table, for Osceola to read.
“I don’t suppose there’s much of a chance we’ll have the bus to ourselves?”
“Hardly. She only runs three times a week and from what I’ve heard, there are always passengers to be taken to Shell Island. Where will you head for?”