' out o'
yer head, I reckon."

"What was it that happened? Did some one shoot me?"

The negro scratched his head, shuffling his bare feet uneasily on the
dirt floor.

"Yas, sah, Mister Knox," he admitted with reluctance. "I's sure
powerful sorry, sah, but I was de boy whut plugged yer. Yer see, sah,
it done happened dis-a-way," and his black face registered genuine
distress. "Thar's a mean gang o' white folks 'round yere thet's took
it inter their heads ter lick every free nigger, an' when yer done come
up ter my door in de middle ob de night, a cussin', an' a-threatenin'
fer ter break in, I just nat'larly didn't wanter be licked, an'--an' so
I blazed away. I's powerful sorry 'bout it now, sah."

"No doubt it was more my fault than yours. You are a free negro, then?"

"Yas, sah. I done belong onct ter Colonul Silas Carlton, sah, but
afore he died, just because I done saved his boy frum drownin' in de
ribber, de ol' Colonul he set me free, an' give me a patch o' lan' ter
raise corn on."

"What is your name?"

"Pete, sah. Free Pete is whut mostly de white folks call me." He
laughed, white teeth showing and the whites of his eyes. "Yer see,
thar am a powerful lot o' Petes round 'bout yere, sah."

I drew a deep breath, conscious of weakness as I endeavored to change
position.

"All right, Pete; now I want to understand things clearly. You shot
me, supposing I was making an assault on you. Your bullet lodged in my
shoulder. What happened then?"

"Well, after a while, sah, thar wan't no mor' noise, an' I reckoned I'd
either done hit yer er else ye'd run away. 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 fatefu