take it,” urged he; “’tain’t nuffin as’ll go off and hurt ye; dis nigga kin swar to dat!”
Not so much this friendly assurance as a resolution the girl had come to, decided her.
She stretched forth her hand and took the package.
This done, she essayed once more to move past the negro in order to return to the hill.
Crookleg, however, still blocking up the path, made no movement to give way to her.
He had evidently something more to say.
“Lookee hyar,” he continued, “I war bid to tell the lubbly Injun lady that the gen’l’m’n wud be at dis berry spot to-morrow mornin’ early to meet her, and I war ’tickler told say dat it war private, and not to be told no ’quisitive folks wat might want to know. Now I think,” here Crookleg took off his tattered hat and scratched his wool. “Yes! dats all dis nigga war tole to say – yes, dats all.”
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