“That’s enough,” the judge cut in with a sigh of relief. “As long as it’s you, I don’t give a damn what you’re doing here. Just give me a hand and help me get to the river. I’ve got a boat there in a little bayou between two live oaks.” Bulldog bent and helped the judge to a sitting posture. The judge groaned and then swore. “Dat boat, Jedge Barringer?” Bulldog asked. “Dat was’n de boat wiv de red paint on de oar handles?” “Yes, that’s the one. So you know where it is? That makes things easier.” Judge Barringer was fast being able to think once more. “De las’ time Ah see dat boat, Jedge, Yo’ Honour, she was gwine down de middle ob de ’Geechee all by itself,” Bulldog explained honestly. “You mean adrift?” “Yas-suh, Jedge, Yo’ Honour, jes’ lak a ol’ tree log.” “All right.” It was no time to bewail the loss of a boat. “Then you can take me back in your boat, Bulldog.” “Me, Jedge? Ah swum.” Judge Barringer put out a quick hand to Bulldog’s leg. The big Negro’s clothes were dry. “You swam across? When?” he asked warily. “Ah reckon it mus’ ’a’ been a couple hours befo’ dinnertime,” Bulldog answered. He knew from experience it was useless to try to lie to Judge Barringer. But the thought of dinnertime prompted him to add hopefully, “Yo’ ain’t got nuthin’ to eat on yo’, has yo’, Jedge, Yo’ Honour?” “Do you mean to tell me you broke away from the chain gang?” “No, suh!” Bulldog answered hurriedly. “Ah didn’ do nuthin’ lak dat. It was thisaway, Jedge, Yo’ Honour: Dat Washin’ton nigger die an’ Ah cain’ see no use in cravin’ to hang by mah neck.” Judge Barringer was thoroughly aroused now. “Who told you that nigger died?” “Chinkapin.” “Where?” “He’s on de chain gang.” “I don’t believe it!” “Befo’ de Lawd, Ah wouldn’ lie to yo’, Jedge Barringer, an’ yo’ knows it!” Bulldog said fervently. “I mean I don’t believe that nigger died,” the judge explained. “If yo’ believes it or don’ believes it, Jedge, Yo’ Honour, dat don’ save mah neck.” “Well, we’ll see about that when we get back. In the meantime you can have my word for it, that nigger didn’t die.” “Yas-suh, Jedge, Yo’ Honour. Ah’ll take yo’ word for it--on’y, we ain’ goin’ back,” said Bulldog emphatically. “Do you mean to say you aren’t going to help me get out of here--that you’d go away and leave me?” Judge Barringer looked straight up into the face of the big Negro. “No, suh! Ah ain’ goin’ away an’ leave yo’, Jedge Barringer, but also Ah ain’ goin’ back wiv yo’ an’ git hung by de neck for no yaller Washin’ton nigger.... Ain’ yo’ even got a san’widge, Jedge?” Judge Barringer was rapidly, in his weakened state, becoming exasperated. “Now, you listen to me, Bulldog, and don’t be a fool. I don’t want you to hang any more than you want to hang. Chinkapin never told the truth in his life. If he said that nigger died, he meant it as a joke, and you jumped to conclusions and----”