But Frank saw at once that Will had been mistaken when he remarked upon the vicious look of the fugitive. He had taken the expression of fear for that of maliciousness.
"Well, who are you, and what do you want here?" Frank asked directly.
The black started, and looked at him a little eagerly.
"I's got lost in de swamp, boss, 'deedy I has, an' I smelled de vittals a-cookin', so's I couldn't keep away. Didn't mean to skeer yuh, suah I didn't. Yuh wouldn't hurt a pore ole brack man, would yuh, little marse?" he droned, still keeping his eyes fastened apprehensively on Frank and his gun.
"I guess it's a fairy story he's putting up, Frank. They told me about him up at the town. He answers the description of George Walden, all right," said Bluff.
Frank saw the man start at mention of the name, and shiver.
"That's your name, all right, I can see. Now, George, what have you been doing to make you hide out like this in the swamp?" demanded the other sternly.
"Reckons as how I ain't wanted 'round dis section, boss. Ain't done nothin' so very ba-ad, but seems like we-uns kain't git on. Some o' the white gentlemen dey got it in fo' me, an' it was either a case o' hidin' out er takin' a coat o' tar an' feathers. I reckoned I'd rather lay in de swamp a while. But, boss, I 'clar tuh Moses I'se mighty nigh starved tuh death, I is."
The man had evidently come to the conclusion that these Northern lads, with the motor-boat, could hardly be hunting fugitive blacks in the swamp. He was beginning to recover a little of his courage.
"How about that, Bluff? What did the people in the town say he had done?" asked Frank.