n his elbow, but
sky and water changed places before his eyes and he dropped down on his
pillow with a stifled sigh. He seemed to be slipping back into the black
night from which he had just emerged. Again he was at Scratch Hill,
again Dave Blount was seeking to steal his nevvy--incidents of the
trial and flight recurred to him--all was confused, feverish, without
sequence.

Suddenly a shadow fell obliquely across the foot of his narrow bed, and
Cavendish, bending his long body somewhat, thrust his head in at the
opening. He found himself looking into a pair of eyes that for the first
time in many a long day held the light of consciousness.

"How are you, stranger?" he demanded, in a soft drawl.

"Where am I?" the words were a whisper on Yancy's bearded lips.

"Well, sir, you are in the Tennessee River fo' certain; my wife will
make admiration when she hears you speak. Polly! you jest step here."

But Polly had heard Cavendish speak, and the murmur of Yancy's voice in
reply. Now her head appeared beside her husband's, and Yancy saw that
she was rosy and smiling, and that her claim to good looks was something
that could not well be denied.

"La, you are some better, ain't you, sir?" she cried, smiling down on
him.

"How did I get here, and where's my nevvy?" questioned Yancy anxiously.

"There now, you ain't in no condition fo' to pester yo'self with
worry. You was fished up out of the Elk River by Mr. Cavendish," Polly
explained, still smiling and dimpling at him.

"When, ma'am--last night?"

"You got another guess coming to you, stranger!" It was Cavendish who
spoke.

"Do you mean, sir, that I been unconscious for a spell?" suggested Yancy
rather fearfully, glancing from one to the other.

"It's been right smart of a spell, too; yes, sir, you've laid like you
was dead, and not fo' a matter of hours either--but days."

"How long?"

"Well, nigh on to three weeks."

They saw Yancy's eyes widen with a look of dumb horror.

"Three weeks!" he at length repeated, and groaned miserably. He was
thinking of Hannibal.

"You was mighty droll to look at when I fished you up out of the river,"
continued Mr. Cavendish. "You'd been cut and beat up scandalous!"

"And you don't know nothing about my nevvy?--you ain't seen or heard of
him, ma'am?" faltered Yancy, and glanced up into Polly's comely face.

Polly shook her head regretfully.

"How come you in the river?" asked Cavendish.

"I reckon I was throwed in