"Lan's sakes, man, 'tain't mah look-out ef yo' come over yere an' tote mah clo'se-basket an' ev'thing 'round fo' me,--no, suh! Ah ain' nev' ast yo', has Ah? All Ah does is to hole Cato so he won't chaw yo' laig off when yo' come botherin' me to please 'low yo' to hulp me,--das all Ah do. An' lemme tell yo', nigger, dat ain' no easy job. 'Ca'se ef dere's one t'ing Cato do enjoy hit's dark meat,--yas, suh, hit's come so he won't even look at light meat no mo', he so sick o' feedin' off'n dese yere white shin-bones." "Well, den, why is yo' glad Ah come up yere to live?" demanded Zachariah defensively. "'Ca'se o' dis yere ole Black Hawk." "Ah don' know nuffin' 'bout no ole Black Hawk." "Yo' all gwine to know 'bout him mighty quick," said she solemnly. "He's on de rampage. Scalpin' an' burnin' white folks at de stake an' des wallerin' in blood. Yas, suh,--Ah suttinly ain't gwine feel so skeert o' dat ole Black Hawk 'long as yo' is livin' right nex' do', Zachariah." "Wha' yo' all talkin' about?" "Marse Joe,--he de sheriff dis yere county,--he done tole ole Mis' Gwyn dis evenin' all de news 'bout dat ole Black Hawk. Yas, suh,--ole Black Hawk he on de warpath. All de Injuns in dis yere--" "Injuns?" gulped Zachariah. "Dey all got dere warpaint on an' dere tommyhawks--" "How come Marse Kenneth he don' know nuffin' 'bout all dis?" demanded Zachariah, taking a step or two backward and glancing anxiously over one shoulder, then the other. "He a lawyer. How come he don' know nuffin' 'bout--Say, how close dat ole sheriff say dem Injuns is?" "Dat's what I can't make out, Zachariah. He talk so kind o' low an' me lettin' de dishpan drop right in de middle--" "Ah guess Ah better go right straight in de house an' tell Marse Kenneth 'bout dis," hastily announced Zachariah. Then he bethought himself to add: "'Ca'se me an' him got a lot to do ef dese here Injuns come 'roun' us lookin' fo' trouble, Yas, suh! Ah got to git de guns an' pistols an' huntin' knives all ready fo'--" The words froze on his lips. A low, blood-curdling moan that seemed to end in a gasp,--or even a death-rattle,--fell upon the ears of the two negroes. It was close at hand,--not more than twenty feet away. This was succeeded, after a few seconds of intense stillness--(notwithstanding the uproarious frogs!)--by a hair-raising screech from Hattie. An instant later she was scuttling for her own kitchen door, emitting inarticulate cries of terror.