“I isn’t feared,” replied Chunk easily.

“Dat’s kaze you doan know.  I des been tremblin’ stiddy sence las’ night en I’se feared hit begin eny minute now.”

“Hit woan begin dis yere night,” replied Chunk, soothingly and incautiously.

“How you know?” she asked quickly, a sudden suspicion entering her mind.

“Wat’s ter begin?” answered Chunk, now on his guard.  “De night am still, nobody roun’.  I hang roun’ a few nights twel I study out de bes’ plan ter git away.”

“Has you been hangin’ roun’ nights, Chunk?” Zany asked solemnly.

“How you talks, Zany!  Does you s’pects I dar stay roun’ whar Perkins am?  He kill me.  He done gone way to-night.”

“How you know dat?”

“One de fiel’-hans tole me.”

“Chunk, ef you up ter shines en doan tole me I done wid you.  Hasn’t I hep you out’n in eberyting so fur?  Ef I fin’ out you been skeerin me so wid eny doin’s I des done wid you.  I des feel hit in my bones you de spook.  You kyant bamboozle me.  I kin hep you—­hab done hit afo’—­en I kin hinder you, so be keerful.  Dere’s some dif’unce in bein’ a spook yosef en bein’ skeered ter death by a rale spook.  Ef you tryin’ ter skeer en fool me I be wuss on you ner eny Voodoo woman dat eber kunjurd folks.”

The interview ended in Chunk’s making a clean breast of it and in securing Zany as an ally with mental reservations.  The thought that he had fooled her rankled.

Mr. Baron’s expostulation and his own pressing interests induced Perkins to remain at home the following night.  As Jute had seemed forgiving and friendly, the overseer asked him to bring two others and stay with him, offering some of the contents of the replenished jug as a reward.  They sat respectfully near the door while Perkins threw himself on his bed with the intention of getting to sleep as soon as possible.  “Are you shore ther wuz no ’sturbances last night?” he asked.

“Well, Marse Perkins,” replied Jute, “you didn’t s’pect we out lookin’.  We wuz po’ful sleepy en roll we haids en er blankets en den ‘fo’ we knowed, hit sun-up.  Folks say en de quarters dat ar spook ain’ arter us.”

“Who the devil is hit arter then?” was the angry response.

“How we know, mars’r?  We neber try ter kill enybody.”

“But I tell you I didn’t kill him,” expostulated their nervous victim.

“Didn’t name no names, Marse Perkins.  I on’y knows w’at I yeared folks tell ’bout spooks.  Dey’s mighty cur’us, spooks is.  Dey des ‘pear to git a spite agin some folks en dey ain’ bodderin oder folks long ez dey ain’ ’feered wid.  I ’spect a spook dat wuz ’feered wid, get he dander up en slam roun’ permiscus.  I des tek a ole bull by de horns ‘fo’ I ’fere wid a spook,” and Jute’s companions grunted assent.

“W’at’s the good o’ yer bein’ yere then?” Perkins asked, taking a deep draught.

“Well, now, Marse Perkins, you mus’n be onreasonbul.  Wat cud we do?  We des riskin’ de wool on we haids stayin’ yere fer comp’ny.  Ef de spook come, ’spose he tink we no business yere en des lay we out lak he kunjer yo’ dawg?  We des tank you, Marse Perkins, fer anoder lil drap ter kep we sperets out’n we shoon,” and Jute shuddered portentously.