here.  And when you tell him the handbill and the reward's bogus, maybe he'll believe you when you explain to him what the idea was for getting 'em out.  Go 'long now, and tell him anything you want to; but mind you don't work your jaw any _between_ here and there.” So I left, and struck for the back country.  I didn't look around, but I kinder felt like he was watching me.  But I knowed I could tire him out at that.  I went straight out in the country as much as a mile before I stopped; then I doubled back through the woods towards Phelps'.  I reckoned I better start in on my plan straight off without fooling around, because I wanted to stop Jim's mouth till these fellows could get away.  I didn't want no trouble with their kind.  I'd seen all I wanted to of them, and wanted to get entirely shut of them. CHAPTER XXXII. WHEN I got there it was all still and Sunday-like, and hot and sunshiny; the hands was gone to the fields; and there was them kind of faint dronings of bugs and flies in the air that makes it seem so lonesome and like everybody's dead and gone; and if a breeze fans along and quivers the leaves it makes you feel mournful, because you feel like it's spirits whispering--spirits that's been dead ever so many years--and you always think they're talking about _you_.  As a general thing it makes a body wish _he_ was dead, too, and done with it all. Phelps' was one of these little one-horse cotton plantations, and they all look alike.  A rail fence round a two-acre yard; a stile made out of logs sawed off and up-ended in steps, like barrels of a different length, to climb over the fence with, and for the women to stand on when they are going to jump on to a horse; some sickly grass-patches in the big yard, but mostly it was bare and smooth, like an old hat with the nap rubbed off; big double log-house for the white folks--hewed logs, with the chinks stopped up with mud or mortar, and these mud-stripes been whitewashed some time or another; round-log