An' thar ye wus, sah, a lyin' on yer back like ye wus ded.

Just so soon as I saw ye, I know'd as how ye never wus no nigger-hunter, but a stranger in des yere parts.
So I dragged ye inside de cabin, an' washed up yer hurts.

But ye never got no bettah, so I got skeered, an' went hoofin' it down fer de docthar at Beaucaire Landin', sah, an' when he cum back along wid me he dug the bullet outer yer shoulder, an' left som truck fer me ter giv' yer.

He's done been yere three times, sah." "From Beaucaire Landing--is that a town ?" "A sorter a town, sah; 'bout four miles down ribber." The mentioning of this familiar word brought back instantly to my darkened understanding all those main events leading up to my presence in this neighborhood.

Complete memory returned, every separate incident sweeping through my brain--Kirby, Carver, the fateful game of cards in the cabin of the _Warrior_, the sudden death of the Judge, the mob anger I sought to curb, the struggle on deck, my being thrown overboard, and the danger threatening the two innocent daughters of Beaucaire.