Left once more in charge of Pompey, the half-breed flew into a rage and muttered all sorts of imprecations against those who had outwitted him. Then, as the day wore on, he calmed down, and tried to bribe the coloured man into giving him something to eat and to drink.
Pompey was obdurate. "Can't do it, nohow," he said. "It's ag'in Mars' Radbury's ordahs, sah."
A wounded man always craves water, and by one o'clock in the afternoon the half-breed's tongue was fairly lolling out of his mouth. He stood it awhile longer, then summoned Pompey.
"Give me a drink,—I am dyin'."
"I dun tole you dat it was ag'in the massah's ordahs, sah."
"He said I could have water if I would talk," growled Stiger.
"Is yo' ready to talk?"
"Yes."
At once the negro called his master, who was busy, with the boys and Poke Stover, in putting down some hog-meat for the winter. Knowing how greatly Stiger must suffer, Amos Radbury went to him without delay.
"So you are willing to talk now, Stiger?"
"How can I help myself?"
"Then tell me why you tried to blow up my cabin?"
"I wanted to git squar' fer havin' me locked up."
