"You mean," he said slowly, "that we're to burn down the shanty and make them think that I've burned in it. That skeleton's to be me."
"You done hit de bull's face in once, sah!" cried the negro in high delight. "Dat just de way I figure it out. In de morning dat no-'count Deacon, he come round to see you an' find out if you done got de money for him. Den he find nothin' but de burned-up house an' de burned-up bones."
"'Pon my soul, Rufe, I believe it's workable," exclaimed Guy, a light of hope appearing on his puzzled face.
"In course it am workable, sah. Deacon, he can't get no money from a daid man. Dat one thing mighty sure!"
"But won't he suspect anything?" suggested Guy.
"Not if dis niggah still alive," declared Rufe emphatically. "I tell you, Marse Guy, I goin' to do down dat man proper. He find me hyah, just a-howlin' and a-carryin' on ober dem ole bones, an' I tell him all about how de fire come in out ob de woods an' how it cotch de house, an' how I done try to pull you out. Oh, I fool him 'to eights.'"
Guy couldn't help laughing. Rufe's enjoyment over the prospective humbugging of Deacon was so intense.
"You see, Marse Guy," went on Rufe eagerly, "Deacon he be so glad to think you daid, he never bother to t'ink whether you foolin' him. He next heir, an' all he t'ink be to get de place an' all de t'ings dat belong to you. He nebber go to dat inquisition at all."
"And what's to become of me in the meantime?" asked Guy.
"You got money, ain't you?"