He looked kinder bothered, and stood there with his bills fluttering on his arm, thinking, and wrinkling up his forehead. At last he says:

     "I'll tell you something. We got to be here three days. If you'll promise you won't blow, and won't let the nigger blow, I'll tell you where to find him."

     So I promised, and he says:

      "A farmer by the name of Silas Ph--" and then he stopped. You see, he started to tell me the truth; but when he stopped that way, and begun to study and think again, I reckoned he was changing his mind. And so he was. He wouldn't trust me; he wanted to make sure of having me out of the way the whole three days. So pretty soon he says:

     "The man that bought him is named Abram Foster--Abram G. Foster--and he lives forty mile back here in the country, on the road to Lafayette."

     "All right," I says, "I can walk it in three days. And I'll start this very afternoon."

     "No you wont, you'll start NOW; and don't you lose any time about it, neither, nor do any gabbling by the way. Just keep a tight tongue in your head and move right along, and then you won't get into trouble with US, d'ye hear?"

     That was the order I wanted, and that was the one I played for. I wanted to be left free to work my plans.