“No; I have other business with him—­business of importance,” added the black dwarf emphatically.

“If that is the case I’ll take you to him.  I am always glad to be of service to Jefferson.”

“Thank you.  He will thank you, too.”

The man walked along with a long, swinging gait which made it difficult for Caesar to keep up with him.

“So you have business with Jefferson?” said the man with the pipe, whose curiosity had been excited.

“Yes.”

“Of what sort?”

“I will tell him,” answered Caesar shortly.

“So its private, is it?”

“Yes.  If he wants to tell you he will.”

“That’s fair.  Well, come along!  Am I walking too fast for you?”

“Your legs are much longer than mine.”

“That’s so.  You are a little shrimp.  I declare.”

A walk of twenty minutes brought them to the Griffin Mine.  Jefferson Pettigrew was standing near, giving directions to a party of miners.

“Jefferson,” said the man with the pipe, “here’s a chap that wants to see you on business of importance.  That is, he says it is.”

Jefferson Pettigrew wheeled round and looked at Caesar.

“Well,” he said, “what is it?”

“I have a letter for you, massa.”

“Give it to me.”

Jefferson took the letter and cast his eye over it.  As he read it his countenance changed and became stern and severe.

“Do you know what is in this letter?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Come with me.”

He led Caesar to a place out of earshot.

“What fiend’s game is this?” he demanded sternly.

“I can’t tell you, massa; I’m not in it.”

“Who are those men that have written to me?”

“I don’t know their right names.  I calls ’em Massa John and Massa Dick.”

“It seems they have trapped a boy friend of mine, Rodney Ropes.  Did you see him?”

“Yes; I gave him a good dinner.”

“That is well.  If they should harm a hair of his head I wouldn’t rest till I had called them to account.  Where have they got the boy concealed?”

“I couldn’t tell you, massa.”

“You mean, you won’t tell me.”

“Yes.  It would be as much as my life is worth.”

“Humph, well!  I suppose you must be faithful to your employer.  Do you know that these men want me to pay five thousand dollars for the return of the boy?”

“Yes, I heard them talking about it.”

“That is a new kind of rascality.  Do they expect you to bring back an answer?”

“Yes, massa.”

“I must think.  What will they do to the boy if I don’t give them the money?”

“They might kill him.”

“If they do—­but I must have time to think the matter over.  Are you expected to go back this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get back?  It must be a good distance.”