The man
already had one reason to use his best endeavors; now I would bring
before him a second.
"Just as far up the river before daylight as possible, Sam. Then I
hope to uncover some hiding place where we can lie concealed until it
is dark again. Do you know any such place?"
He scratched his head, muttering something to himself; then turned half
about, exhibiting a line of ivories.
"On de Illinois shore, sah? Le's see; thar's Rassuer Creek, 'bout
twenty mile up. 'Tain't so awful big et the mouth, but I reckon we
mought pole up fer 'nough ter git outer sight. Ah spects you all knows
whut yer a headin' fer?"
"To a certain extent--yes; but we had to decide on this action very
quickly, with no chance to plan it out. I am aiming at the mouth of
the Illinois."
He glanced about at me again, vainly endeavoring to decipher my
expression in the gloom.
"De Illinois ribber, boss; what yer hope fer ter find thar?"
"A certain man I've heard about. Did you ever happen to hear a white
man mentioned who lives near there? His name is Amos Shrunk?"
I could scarcely distinguish his eyes, but I could feel them. I
thought for a moment he would not answer.
"Yer'l surely excuse me, sah," he said at last, humbly, his voice with
a note of pleading in it. "Ah's feelin' friendly 'nough, an' all dat,
sah, but still yer mus' 'member dat Ah's talkin' ter a perfict
stranger. If yer wud sure tell me furst just whut yer was aimin' at,
then maybe Ah'd know a heap mor'n Ah do now.
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