I went on a-whimpering, and says:

“I don’t want to blow on nobody; and I ain’t got no time to blow, nohow; I got to turn out and find my nigger.”

He looked kinder bothered, and stood there with his bills fluttering on his arm, thinking, and wrinkling up his forehead. At last he says:

“I’ll tell you something. We got to be here three days. If you’ll promise you won’t blow, and won’t let the nigger blow, I’ll tell you where to find him.”

So I promised, and he says:

“A farmer by the name of Silas Ph — “ and then he stopped. You see, he started to tell me the truth; but when he stopped that way, and begun