Bulldog jumped two yards at the sound of his own voice, not realizing that he had experienced a psychological moment, that the very stress he had put on his senses of perception had caused him to speak out, just as a householder who fancies he has heard someone outside his door will call out, “Who’s there?” And while he stood there unable to decide whether to remain or run, that human cry came to him again, this time almost at his feet. His teeth chattered now from mental if not bodily fear. Sounds do not come from nothing; and yet, strain his eyes as he would, he saw only a cabbage palmetto and its jet-black shadow in the place from whence it seemed to him the cry had come. Still he stared at the shadow. Something was there. As he stared, he saw it take form. Slowly at first it grew round and whitish, then its shape became more definite. Bulldog was hypnotized by it now, glued to the spot where he stood. He tried to ask it what it was, but his lips refused to move. He was cold now--cold and shivering. Then, with a rush, his breath came back to him. The thing had moved and was looking at him and he knew what he saw. “Bulldog!” the thing gasped. “Jedge Barringer! Ah thought yo’ was a ghos’!” “Thank God you’ve come,” the judge said weakly. “I’ve had an accident. I’m shot in the leg. Not bad, but I lost a lot of blood before I got the flow stopped. I guess I’ve crawled ten miles trying to find the river and my boat. But I’m all right now. Who’s with you? Captain Jim?” Bulldog heard and yet didn’t hear. Judge Barringer had been hunting and had shot himself in the leg. He had tried to reach his boat and had failed. The boat in question was the one Bulldog had found and appropriated; the boat he had later set adrift. The judge thought Bulldog had been sent out to look for him by Captain Jim. “You black hyena, don’t stand there like that!” Judge Barringer exploded feebly. “I’m no ghost. Call Captain Jim.” “Jedge, Yo’ Honour, dey ain’ nobody heah but me,” said Bulldog, simply stating a fact. “You mean to say you came for me alone?” Judge Barringer was suffering from a terrible ordeal and was not thinking very clearly. “But how did you know----” He stopped. Bulldog had not come for him. No one had come for him. He had slipped off quietly to hunt alone, expecting to go on that night to Bryan Neck. The whole idea of someone coming for him had been a sort of nightmare of hope when his brain had failed to function properly. He might still be suffering from hallucinations. “Bulldog!” He spoke to make sure this towering Negro before him was real. “Yas-suh, Jedge, Yo’ Honour.” Time and circumstances could not alter custom, and Bulldog’s answer was a tribute to habit. “Bulldog, what are you doing here?” “Jedge, Yo’ Honour, it’s thisaway,” the big Negro began.