If I hadn't heard the boy describe Pike I would have believed his whopper. But as it was I kept quiet because I knew that what was going on was far beyond my control or understanding.

"So your master is dead and his plantation is burned down?" Tobias asked.

"Yes, suh."

"And how did the plantation burn down?"

"I think it was abolitionists," John said, bugging out his eyes. "Abolitionists and maybe injuns too. They burned down the master's house with all'a his family and then took the slaves and run. But I stayed with my mastuh because you know I loved him because he treated us slaves so good."

I had never seen a slave grease a white man like that. The lie was so bold that I was sure that Tobias was about to release the hounds to tear us both to shreds.

"What was your master's name, boy?"

"Joe," John said. "Mastuh Joe."

This brought a smile to the Tobias's lips.

"Joe?" he said. "Joseph. Did he have a last name?"

"I jes called him Mastuh Joe, Mastuh. I stayed with him until he died and then I wandered off in the woods lookin' for a farm to work on and a mastuh to keep me. But I been lost all this time until I come upon Mr. Forty-seven here. I was so scared that I wanted to run but he tole me that you was a good mastuh and that I needn't be ascared."

"You know it's my duty to try and find your master and return you to him, don't you, son?" Tobias said.

The only word I had to hear was the last one son. When Master Tobias uttered that word to a colored person it was a sign of affection. That meant that the slave he addressed was now his property.

"Mastuh," John said with deep-felt awe in his voice, "if you could bring me back to my mastuh an' his big house I would kiss your feet an' pledge my life to you."

Tobias swelled up when he heard these words. Every plantation master wanted to be loved by his slaves. He wanted them to look on him like their daddy. John had greased Tobias so well that he assured himself a place on the Corinthian Plantation for the rest of his natural born days.

Whatever effect John had on Tobias it was the opposite for those bloodhounds. They doubled their efforts to get off from the master's leash and then they started braying as if they had caught the scent of a wounded deer. Tobias yanked hard on their collars and yelled at them and made them heel. But still you could see their evil eyes looking hard at the both of us poor souls.

"Forty-seven," the master said when his dogs went mostly quiet.

"Yessuh."

"For the time bein' we gonna give this boy here Nigger Ned's numbah and he's gonna sleep in the men's cabin."

"Yessuh."

"You tell Mud Albert that I will call to see this slave up at the big house latah on and that I don't want him molested by any of the rough element out there undah his charge. And I don't want him branded at least not yet."

"Yessuh," I said for a third time.

But for that solitary response I was speechless. I had never heard orders from the Master like that; for him to be concerned about the welfare of a mere slave or for that slave to be presented to him like a guest at his house. It was beyond my experience. Black men and women were slaves and niggers on the level of dogs to somebody like Tobias. He might come out to the kennel to scratch behind their ears or maybe throw them a bone. But to have a slave present himself at the big house to meet with the Master that was like a Negro being able to walk down the main road at midday without some white man grabbing him and beating him and dragging him back home in chains.

Tobias pulled on his dogs' collars and dragged them back down the path toward his house. At every step one of the four hounds would turn and growl at us. You could tell that they could feel our flesh rend under their sharp teeth.

"I thought you said nevah t'say mastuh?" I said when Tobias was gone far enough away.

John smiled easily and I could tell that he was again the same confident young man I had met earlier that day.

"When I talk to somebody like I talked with Tobias," he said, "it's like a joke. To me Tobias Turner is nothing more than one of those dogs are to him just a mad beast at the wrong end of the chain. But when you say master and when you say nigger you are making yourself his dog and his slave."

"I am his slave," I said.

"Not anymore," Tall John said.

It's funny what one word can tell you. When Tobias called John son I knew that he intended to steal him from Pike and keep him as one of his. And when John said the word any I knew that he wasn't one of us, the slaves, but

something different, something that neither I nor anyone I had ever known had met. I knew right then that the runaway Lemuel, now calling himself Tall John, was something like an angel, or a devil. But whichever one he was I knew that I wanted to be his friend.

"He says which?" Mud Albert asked me.

For the third time I explained what Master Tobias had told me concerning Tall John.

"For this niggah here?" Albert said.

"That's what he said," I answered for the third time also.

"What they call you?" Albert asked the strange colored slave.

"Tall John."

"Tall John? Why ain't they called you Skinny John or Copper John or just John?"

"Tall," John said as if he were considering the word for the first time in his life. "Tall… is a funny word, you right about dat. I mean you could have a tall flea as long as he taller den alia the other fleas. To you an' me dat flea ain't no mo' den a tiny midget but to alia da othah fleas he be like some kinda king."

Once again Tall John was talking like a whole different person. I came to understand that he spoke one way to white people, another way to slaves, and still another way to me when we were alone. In this way John hid his true nature from everyone but me.

"King flea," Champ Noland said, and a few of the men laughed at the outlandish idea.

"So now you want us to call you King John?" Billy Branches, slave Number Thirty-nine, asked.

"I's jes' talkin' 'bout tall right now," John said. "Fas jes' sayin' that if a flea could be tall den why cain't I be?"

"But dat flea you supposin' was taller den the othah fleas," said Number Seventy-five, also known as Black Tom. "I see a lotta men here taller den you."

John's eyes got big and then he rolled them around the room to check out Black Tom's claim. He looked so foolish that many of the men started laughing. I felt a grin come across my own face.

I had only been out in the slave quarters for a few weeks. In that time I had never heard general laughter among the men. Sometimes, before we were chained to our bunks, the men would gather under lamplight and talk in low tones about mundane events of the day. But hearing John brought lightness to our hearts.

"I don't like to conta'dict you, suh," John replied after rolling his eyes some more. "But I done spied around myself 'n I do believe that I am the tallest person hereabouts."

John's outlandish claim brought loud protests from the men.

"Dat nigger's crazy," one voice shouted.

"Dat's a lie!" another indignant man said.

There was a great deal of shouting but as angry as the sounded they were still having a good time.

"So says you," John said in response to the doubting mob of slaves. "But let me pose you dis…" He held up one finger and the whole room went silent. "If you sees a wood barrel stand up to here…" he held his hand at the level of his diaphragm "… would you call dat a tall barrel?"

"No," somebody said. "Dat's jes' a regular barrel. It'a have to be up to here to call it tall."

The man, Number Nineteen, held his hand shoulder high to show what he meant.