Our big men am tired to def dat Massa Reade stop do men
from havin' a little liquor and playin' cairds evenin's."
"Fine!" thought Tom, with a start. "If Sambo knew how close I am he'd
carry out his orders right now! He has his pistol with him."
"An' den, if dey's any fuss made," the black went on, "Misto Hazelton, he
done gottah go nex'. Maybe Ah get cotch' w'en I do fo' Misto Reade. Ef
dat happen, den dere's anodder man ready to do fo' Misto Hazelton."
"And maybe the second man will get caught, too," suggested Evarts. "Then
there'll be two of you with nooses around your necks."
"We maybe get cotch', an' put in de jail," smirked Sambo Ebony, "but
doan' yo' beliebe nothin' worse happen. Dere ain' many guards at de jail,
an' do gang is on de way. De jail guards done be shot up, an' ouah folks
turn' loose. Den we all strike out fo' new place, an' begin all ober
again. Den a new gang come in heah and operate to get de money away from
de breakwatah gangs. Dere's so much money in dat camp yondah dat ouah
folks done gottah hab it ef a dozen men has to be kill'."
"For cold-blooded, systematic villainy I believe I am listening to the
limit!" quivered Lieutenant Dick Prescott under his breath.
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