"Oh, please don't hurt me! Please don't kill poor Cato! He never hurt
good Injine in all his life! Please, good, nice Mr. Injine, let me go,
and I'll do anyt'ing you wants me to, and lubs you as long as I lib.
Please, don't hurt poor nigger Cato," repeated the servant, fairly
beside himself with terror.
"If you don't want to be killed, get up," said the young officer,
sternly enough to bring Cato to his senses; but only after he had been
assisted by what he supposed to be a ferocious Indian, ready to brain
him, was he enabled to rise and to keep his feet.
[Illustration: "If you don't want to be killed, get up," said the young
officer.]
"Don't you know me, Cato?" asked the Lieutenant, laughing heartily at
the woe-begone appearance of the negro.
"Hebens, golly! ain't you an Injine, Massa Canfield?" he asked, his
knees still shaking with terror.
"Do I look like one?"
"Guess you isn't, arter all," added the negro, with more assurance.
"Hebens, golly! _I ain't afeard_!" he suddenly exclaimed,
straightening up proudly. "Didn't t'ink Cato was afeard, Massa
Canfield?"
"I must say that the circumstantial evidence of your cowardice is hard
to resist."
The negro's eyes enlarged as he heard the large words of the soldier,
and his looks showed that he had no idea of their meaning.
"Doesn't t'ink I's _afeard_?"
"Why did you build such a looking concern as that?"
"Why I build dat? To keep de rain off of me.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59