Pete turned over; his snoring broke into little gasps. He opened his eyes, stared inquiringly for an instant, and then his eyelids began to close drowsily.
“Looky here!” He was roughly handled again by the black hand on his shoulder. “You young fool, you dance all night till you cayn't keep yo' eyes open in de day-time, but ef you don't git er move on you en light out er dis cabin you'll dance yo' last jig wid nothin' under yo' feet but wind. It'll be er game er frog in de middle en you be de frog.”
“What dat?—what dat you givin' me, Uncle Richmond?” Pete was now awake and sitting bolt upright on the mattress.
“Huh, I come ter tell you, boy, dat you 'bout ter git in trouble, en, fer all I know, de biggest you ever had in all yo' bo'n days.”
“Huh, you say I is, Uncle Richmond?” Pete exclaimed, incredulously. “What wrong wid me?”
The old man stepped back till he could look through the cabin door over the fields upon which the first streaks of daylight were falling in grayish, misty splotches.
“Pete,” he said, “somebody done slip in Abe Johnson's house en brain him en his wife wid er axe.”
“Huh, you don't say!” Pete stared in sleepy astonishment. “When dat happen, Uncle Richmond?”
“Las' night, er towards mawnin',” the old man said. “Ham Black come en toi' me. He say we better all hide out; it gwine ter be de biggestm 'cite-ment ever heard of in dese mountains; but, Pete, you de main one ter look out—you, you!”
“Me! Huh, what you say dat fer, Uncle Rich'?”