n' bout dis here. When ole Mars say,
'Jerry, what you seen in de Vine Ridge Swash?' Jerry, he gwine say,
'Nothin', Marster, fo' de Lord. I seen nothin' 't all!' An' I ain't
gwine tell no lie, nuther, 'cause I ain't gwine look!"

Thus thinking, he cautiously drew back, and, with ashen face and limbs
that through trembling almost failed to support him, he stealthily
crept away until out of earshot; then took to his heels and fled.
When, however, he was forced to pause for breath, he considered if he
had done well to desert his young master, and turned reluctantly to
retrace his steps, when, as he did so, the air was suddenly rent with
ear-piercing shrieks for half a second, and Jerry's heart quailed.

"It's boun' to be de debil," he whispered. Then, a light seeming to
break upon him, he exclaimed: "Bless God! 't ain't nothin' but de ole
Chieftain a-blowin'."

The Chieftain, a small freight steamer, had recently taken the place
of the old flat-bottomed scows, and, as the steam whistle was still a
novelty, it is not surprising that Ung Jerry, in his terror, should
for the moment have mistaken it for some unearthly sound.

After many irresolute pauses, the old man at length reached the scene
of the disaster, and with shaking hands thrust aside the bushes.
Except for the small birds silently flitting to their roosts, the
place was utterly deserted. The level sunbeams glinted through the
gray moss, gilded the tree trunks, and glowed crimson upon the brown
leaves; the solitary peace of nature seemed unbroken; only the pool of
blood at Ung Jerry's feet told him that what he had witnessed had not
been a vision.

After a moment's survey he was turning away, when his eyes fell upon
the two guns: here, at least, was something tangible, and the old man
proceeded to secrete them in the fallen leaves. Squatted upon the
ground, he was too busily engaged to note the sound of approaching
footsteps, and started violently when a rough voice accosted him. He
mustered courage, however, to quaver:--

"Dat you, Mars Jones?"

"Me? of course it's me! Who did you reckon it was?"

"I dunno, Mars Jones."

"Well, you'll know next time, if you don't keep them hogs o' yourn
out of my corn. Why, that confounded old sow can destroy more corn in
one night than you are worth."

"Yes, Mars Jones, dat de trufe," meekly assented the old man.

Mars Jones, warming to the subject, now waxed more and more eloquent
over his grievances, until, having