It's despit lonesome, and we might lose our way,--whar we'd come to, de Lord only knows." "Nevertheless," said Haley, "I shall go that way." "Now I think on 't, I think I hearn 'em tell that dat ar road was all fenced up and down by der creek, and thar, an't it, Andy ?" Andy wasn't certain; he'd only "hearn tell" about that road, but never been over it.

In short, he was strictly noncommittal.
Haley, accustomed to strike the balance of probabilities between lies of greater or lesser magnitude, thought that it lay in favor of the dirt road aforesaid.

The mention of the thing he thought he perceived was involuntary on Sam's part at first, and his confused attempts to dissuade him he set down to a desperate lying on second thoughts, as being unwilling to implicate Liza.
When, therefore, Sam indicated the road, Haley plunged briskly into it, followed by Sam and Andy.
Now, the road, in fact, was an old one, that had formerly been a thoroughfare to the river, but abandoned for many years after the laying of the new pike.

It was open for about an hour's ride, and after that it was cut across by various farms and fences.

Sam knew this fact perfectly well,--indeed, the road had been so long closed up, that Andy had never heard of it.