In another moment the bow grounded on the bank and its occupant came stumbling up the slight declivity.
He was a medium-sized, wiry-looking fellow, with olive skin and small mustache, dressed in brown corduroy, a colored handkerchief wound about his head in lieu of a hat.

As he came to the level where I stood, he stopped suddenly, staring into my face.
"Sacre! I thought eet vas Coombs.

Who are you, M'sieur ?" "I came in last night," I replied evasively, "and was just looking about a bit." "So! you know Coombs, hey ?" "I 've met him--yes." The black eyes searched my face, and I noted his right hand touch the hilt of a knife in his belt.
"What water is this ?" I asked, ignoring his action, "bayou ?" "Oui, M'sieur." "Are we near the sea ?" "Twenty-seex mile.

You not know where you are?
'Tis odd you not know, M'sieur." I laughed, enjoying his bewilderment, yet not realizing how to turn it to better account.
"Oh, no.

I came by train in the night, and am a little hazy as to location.