“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'?” “'Ca'se dey gwine ter look fer you de fus one, Pete. You sho is been talkin' too much out yo' mouf 'bout dat whippin' Johnson done give you en Sam Dudlow, en de res' um in town dat night. Ham tol' me ter come warn you ter hide out, en dat quick. Ham say he know in reason you didn't do it, 'ca'se, he say, yo' bark is wuss'n yo' bite. Ham say he bet 'twas done by some nigger dat didn't talk so much. Ham say he mighty nigh sho Sam Dudlow done it, 'ca'se Sam met Abe Johnson in de big road yisterday en Johnson cussed 'im en lashed at 'im wid er whip. Ham say dat nigger come on ter de sto' lookin' lak er devil in men's clothes. But he didn't say nothin' even den. Look lak he was des lyin' low bidin' his time.” Pete got up and began to dress himself with the unimaginative disregard for danger that is characteristic of his race. “I bet, myse'f, Sam done it,” he said, reflectively. “He's er bad yaller nigger, Uncle Richmond, en ever since Johnson en Dan Willis larruped we-all, he's been sulkin' en growlin'. But es you say, Uncle Rich', he didn't talk out open. He lay low.” “Dat don't mek no diffunce, boy,” the old black man went on, earnestly; “you git out'n here in er hurry en mek er break fer dem woods. Even den I doubt ef dat gwine ter save yo' skin, 'ca'se Dan Willis got er pair er blood-hounds dat kin smell nigger tracks thoo er ten-inch snow.” “Huh, I say, Uncle Richmond, you don't know me,” Pete said. “You don't know me, ef you 'low I'm gwine ter run fum dese white men. I 'ain't been nigh dat Abe Johnson's house--not even cross his line er fence. I promised Marse Carson Dwight not ter go nigh 'im, en--en I promised 'im ter let up on my gab out here, en I done dat, too. No, suh, Unc' Rich', you git somebody else ter run yo' foot-race. I'm gwine ter cook my breakfust lak I always do en den go out ter my sprouts dat hatter be grubbed. I got my task ter do, rain er shine.”