man followed him into his cabin and locked the door. There was a command in Lykoff's gesture which kept the negro from making an outcry. "Your name is Zack?" he asked.
"Yas, suh, but ev'ybody, white an' black, calls me 'Ole Reliable'." Zack's smile was feeble, his intentions strong.
"Zack is enough; that's easier. Do you want a hundred dollars?" which reassured Zack mightily; the man talked United-States-talking; he said dollars instead of these other words which Zack could not understand; so the negro replied instantly and truthfully, "Yas, suh, I'd love to git a hundred dollars."
"You are going ashore with the Colonel?" the white man said.
"Sholy, sholy; Cunnel won't lemme git two foot out o' his sight. Cunnel ain't able to do nothin' fer hisself."
"Very good; I want to send a letter ashore. It is important. Here it is, rolled in this capsule. You must deliver it to the man who will come to you and say, 'Zack,' not another single word, just 'Zack.' He will hand you the other ten sovereigns when you give him the capsule; here is ten now."
It was no dream—that white man put ten gold pieces into Zack's hand, careless-like, same as if
