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Updated: May 21, 2025
"He's a Portuguese mixed breed; a kind o' sun-scorched subject, like a good many of you Southerners. A nigger's mother never had him, you may bet your 'davie on that. There's as much white blood in his jacket as anybody's got, only them Portuguese are dark-lookin' fellers. He's no fool his name's Manuel, a right clever feller, and the owners think as much of him as they do of the Skipper."
"I've heerd o' folk sellin' theirselves to the devil afore now." said he. "You be a danged fule, Joel Amos!" exclaimed the Ancient angrily. "Fule or no I never see a chap wi' such a tur'ble dark-lookin' face afore, an' wi' such eyes so black, an' sharp, an' piercin' as needles, they be ah! goes through a man like two gimblets, they do!"
I scared 'em all right, I guess. Anyhow, they disappeared over south there toward that old wood road that nobody uses no more. An' then I hear a motor car roar an' off she goes." "Why," cried Frank, "they must have been the same two men we chased." "Were," said Tom. "Dark-lookin' fellers an' one didn't have no coat. That was the guy Bob peeled his coat off of. I'd know 'em agin easy."
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