I could not talk with the fellow in the
presence of Mrs. Bernard, for he was the kind to be handled roughly for
results, but now I was ready to probe him to the bottom. "Is the
overseer downstairs?"
"No."
"See here, Sallie," I insisted warmly, "I 'm master of this house and I
want some kind of answer besides yes, and no. Where is he?"
"Ah reckon he's out in one o' ther cabins, sah--he done don't sleep in
the house nohow."
"He does n't sleep here! Why?"
"Ah spect it 's cause he 's afeerd too, 'sah," she replied, her snaky
eyes showing. "Ah 's a voo-doo, an' ah don't care 'bout 'em tall, but
good Lor', dar ain't no white man wants ter stay in des yere house
mor'n one night."
She laughed, a weird, grating laugh, and started downstairs. I stood
still, watching her light disappear. Then, swearing at myself for a
coward, stepped back into my own room, and closed the door.
CHAPTER XII
THE DEAD MAN
This revealment of conditions left me thoroughly puzzled. I was not
frightened at the situation, for I largely attributed the fear shown by
both Pete and Sallie to negro superstition. I could have dismissed
their faith in a haunted house with a smile, and gone to sleep myself
with an easy conscience, confident that a noisy wind, or a hooting owl,
was the sum and substance of all the trouble.
Pages:
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102