is the third
duck, which, certainly the best cooked and least burned of the three,
had been served to table; that is to say, its burnt stick had been stuck
in the sand between us, and there it was, nicely cooling down, and
looking tempting in the extreme.

Pomp looked at me, and I looked at Pomp.

"I dreffle glad we come an' 'top out all night," he said, showing his
white teeth. "Mass' George, go an' shoot more duck, an' Pomp cook um."

"We haven't finished that one," I said.

"No, Mass' George, no hab finish dat oder duck."

"Well, go on; I've had quite enough."

"Pomp had quite nuff too."

"Then we'll wrap it up in the napkin, and we'll eat it by and by for
lunch."

"Yes; wrap um up an' eat um bime by."

I drew out the napkin, and Pomp shot the duck off the wooden spit on to
the cloth, which, with due care to avoid the addition of sand, was
folded up, and then I said--

"Now, Pomp, we must find the boat as we go back."

"Mass' George go back?" he said.

"Yes, of course; and get there as soon as we can."

"Yes, Mass' George," he said, sadly. "Pomp wouldn't mind 'top if Mass'
George say 'top here."

"We'll come again," I said, laughing. "Let's find the boat if we can,
but we must make haste back."

"Hi! Ohey!" he shouted.

"What's the matter?" I said.

"Wha dat all gun?"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

I looked sharply round at the bush, hardly comprehending my black
companion's remark.

"What?" I said, in a confused way.

"Wha dat gun?"

"I stood it up against that bush," I said; and then, shaking off the
dull stupid feeling which troubled me, darted to the bush, expecting to
see that it had slipped down among the little branches.

The gun was gone, and I looked round at the other bushes dotted about.

"I put it here, didn't I?"

"Yes; Mass' George put um gun dah. Pomp know," he cried, running to me,
and dropping on his knees as he pointed to the impression left in the
dry sand by the butt. "Gun gone down dah."

He began scratching up the sand for a few moments, and I watched him,
half hoping and believing that he might be right.

But the boy ceased as quickly as he had begun.

"I know, Mass' George," he cried, starting up and gazing toward the
river. "'Gator 'fraid we come shoot um, and come out of de ribber and
'teal a gun."

"Nonsense! An alligator wouldn't do that."

"Oh, I done know. 'Gator berry wicked ole rarksle."

"Where are the marks then?" I said.

"Ah, Po