"Ef dere's spooks anywhere dey's dereaway," he muttered over his
hoe; "but den, ki! dey woan 'fere wid dis yer niggah. What hab
I'se got ter do wid de wah and de fighten an de jabbin'? De spooks
cyant lay nuffin ter me eben ef ole marse an' de res' am a-fighten
ter keep dere slabes, as folks say."
Having thus satisfied himself that the manes of the dead thousands
could have no controversy with him, Jeff mustered sufficient
resolution to visit the field that night. He took no one into his
confidence, fearing if he discovered treasures of any kind he
could not be left in undisturbed possession. During the day the
rudiments of imagination which made him a musician had been
conjuring up the possible results of his expedition.
"De ting fer dis cullud pusson ter do is ter p'ramberlate ter de
Linkum lines. Ki! I doan wan' what drap outen OUR sogers' pockets.
I kin git Virginny leaf widouten runnin' 'mong de spooks arter it.
De place fer a big fine is whar de brush is tick and de Linkum men
crawl away so dey woan be tromp on. Who knows but I kin fine a
place whar a ginral hide hisself? Ob cose if he hab a lot of gole
he'd stick it in de bush or kiver it right smart, so dat oders
moutn't get it foh he could helf hisself.
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