see that he was armed, and ready for action. The wretched outcast was
almost in tatters. He looked thin and haggard, in marked contrast with
the sleek and well-fed darkies the boys had generally noticed since
reaching the Sunny South.

Having reached a spot in front of Frank, the man arose to his full
height. There was a look of trouble on his face. He had been hunted like
a wolf for so long that naturally he believed every man's hand was
against him.

But Frank saw at once that Will had been mistaken when he remarked upon
the vicious look of the fugitive. He had taken the expression of fear for
that of maliciousness.

"Well, who are you, and what do you want here?" Frank asked directly.

The black started, and looked at him a little eagerly.

"I's got lost in de swamp, boss, 'deedy I has, an' I smelled de vittals
a-cookin', so's I couldn't keep away. Didn't mean to skeer yuh, suah I
didn't. Yuh wouldn't hurt a pore ole brack man, would yuh, little marse?"
he droned, still keeping his eyes fastened apprehensively on Frank and
his gun.

"I guess it's a fairy story he's putting up, Frank. They told me about
him up at the town. He answers the description of George Walden, all
right," said Bluff.

Frank saw the man start at mention of the name, and shiver.