"Satyr, I--I--you don't know how much I appreciate this. I don't deserve it. But--can't I go with you on the search?" Jeff Angel laughed his mirthless, jackass laugh before answering. "Lord, no! This here pleasure trip 's all fur me. You jes' hang 'roun' 'n' wait fur nooze!" "You'll need money--how much?" My hand started toward an inner pocket, but instantly Jeff's long, wiry fingers had gripped it, and dragged it down. "Naw yo' don't, pardner!" There was a peculiar earnestness to his voice and an exalted look in his bleary eyes as, holding my hand hard down on the platform, he resumed: "I wen' to hear Father John preach onct--jes' out o' cur'os'ty. He tol' a tale 'bout a Feller whut some heath'ns nailed on a cross, 'n' that Feller c'd a-he'p' Hisself if He'd a-wanted to, but He let 'em kill 'im so 's a pas'l o' other fellows c'd live. Father John said 't wuz fur you 'n' me, too, 'n' ever'body, but I 'low he kin' o' got that part o' the story crooked, 'cus that ain't natch'l. Anyhow, he 'lowed that whut that Feller done saved th' worl', 'n' He done it 'ithout money 'n' 'ithout price. That's whut stuck in my craw. Jes' think uv it! 'Ithout money 'n' 'ithout price! I ain't no sort o' eddicated, but it 'pears to me that w'en a feller c'n do some'n' fur another feller 'ithout no sort o' pay--some'n' that's shore 'nough, yo' know--that it'd make 'im holler'n' 'n' shout'n' happy fur quite a spell. That's whut I mean, pardner; 'n' that's whut I 'low to do fur you--fur, b' gosh! I love yo'!" CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE IN WHICH, STRANGE TO SAY, TIME PASSES. ALSO I RECEIVE THREE WARNINGS, AND WITNESS AN UNPARALLELED EPISODE IN THE SMITHY Four weeks have passed since Jeff Angel departed on his quest. Until to-night I have not had the heart to face my journal. But to-day a premonition came to me that my period of waiting was drawing to a close, and pinning my faith to this invisible, silent herald which has spoken to me before with prophetic voice, I take up my pen again. Jeff's loyal, true declaration almost stunned me. It was entirely unexpected. I could not conceive of such self-sacrificing nobility in him. I had given him no serious thought, accepting him for what he appeared to be on the surface; a harmless, almost half-witted wanderer in the wilderness about Hebron, cursed with an inordinate love for strong drink, and blessed with the pure soul of music. And here, when my case seemed all but hopeless, he had gladly and willingly volunteered for a task which could be no light one. I pressed him to take some money--even a little; enough to insure him against hunger, but he refused. He said he never had any trouble getting food, and he was going to tramp. He needed nothing. He was going to start at once--that afternoon. I made him come to the Lodge with me for dinner, wished him quick success, and bade him God-speed with a strong handclasp. He strode away chanting one of his absurd couplets.