“Then we won’t confess,” Org announced decisively. They meditated awhile, and again Org asked a question. “Did anybody see us with that kag of powder?” “Nope. Us wus all alone.” “Then we needn’t say anything about that kag,” Org declared. “Uncle Tom won’t miss it for some time.” “Don’t we say nothin’ about nothin’ bustin’?” Little Bit asked. “No.” “Look at all de scratches dat de briars cut on my face when I wus runnin’ away,” Little Bit pointed. “How’s I gwine esplain dese here scratches? I got to say dat somepin’ busted on me, ain’t I?” “No, you fool!” Org exclaimed. “Don’t you ever confess that anything busted on you or that you were ever round any busting thing. Tell ’em that you cut your face—er——” “You had better think up a powerful good lie,” Little Bit quavered. “My mammy, she kin ketch on powerful easy to tales.” “Tell her that you cut your face—er—shaving!” Org replied, uttering the last word with triumphant emphasis. “Dat shows you don’t know nothin’ about niggers,” Little Bit scoffed. “Most niggers ain’t got no hair on deir face an’ don’t never hab to shave. A nigger whut kin grow a moustacher an’ whiskers—he’s proud of hisse’f!” “Aw, shucks,” Org said in disgust. “That ruins our perfectly good excuse.” “My face don’t look like it’s been cut with a razor,” Little Bit said obstinately. “It looks like it’s been sawed acrost wid a lot of blackberry briars, dat’s whut.” “I know it does, but you’ve got to tell some kind of tale to keep us from being found out,” Org said impatiently. “We don’t hab to tell nothin’,” Little Bit sighed. “Dat bridge will say a plum’ plenty. It’ll preach a whole sermont.” “Don’t you say nothing about that bridge,” Org howled. “Keep your mouth shut.” “’Spose de white folks axes me?” “Tell ’em you don’t know anything.” “I’ll tell ’em dat,” Little Bit said doubtfully. “But ain’t gwine bear down on dat very hard. Ef a nigger tells too many lies, Gawd’ll kill him!” “If you don’t tell a few about that bridge the white folks will kill you before God can get around to you,” Org declared. Then there popped into Orren’s head, the final recourse of all the guilty, the establishment of a false alibi. “Come on,” he howled, springing to his feet. “We’ll go back to town and prove to everybody that we have not been in the woods at all to-day. We’ll let ’em see us.” XVI A PAIR OF FEET Dazzle Zenor went to the Hen-Scratch saloon and sent word to Skeeter that she must see him right away. When he came out to the rear, she lost no time in stating her business. “Hopey jes’ come to my place an’ tole me dat dar ain’t no Gaitskills at home. Org an’ Little Bit is goned to de woods; Marse Tom is down to de bank, an’ ole miss an’ Miss Virginny is gone out fer a automobile ride; Mustard Prophet is gone out to de Nigger-Heel plantation, an’ is takin’ Hopey an’ Popsy Spout wid him to give ’em a outin’. Now is yo’ time to git de rabbit-foot.”