“No, suh, Jedge, Ah ain’ jump to nuthing. Jes when Chinkapin say dat nigger die three flip-flop death-angel buzzards come flyin’ right ovah mah haid.... If yo’ ain’ even got a san’widge, we goes hungry, both of us; but, Jedge, we ain’ gwine back fo’ to git me hung.” Bulldog was adamant on that point. “If I had a gun, Bulldog, I’d shoot you!” Judge Barringer threatened. “Yas-suh, Jedge, Yo’ Honour,” Bulldog agreed solemnly. “But dat wouldn’t be gittin’ me hung by de neck. Ah saw oncet a lynch nigger an’ his neck was stretch out as long as mah arm. No, suh, Jedge Barringer, when Ah dies Ah dies so dey can put me in de coffin beautiful.” “Can’t you do something besides talk like a fool?” Judge Barringer felt that his strength was slipping away from him. The hope that had come with Bulldog’s arrival was fast disappearing. His head sank resignedly to his chest. His brain was beginning to grow muddled again from sheer exhaustion, when he felt that Bulldog had taken him by the shoulder. From a long way off he could hear the big Negro’s voice. “Jedge Barringer, don’ yo’ go passin’ out. Ah’ll git you home someways. Gives me yo’ arm an’ I totes you to Ossabaw.” Ossabaw? That was an island at the mouth of the river fully fifteen miles distant. Now Judge Barringer, semiconscious as he was, knew that Bulldog was crazy. If he should be taken to Ossabaw, he would be farther away from help than ever. He would stay rather where he was. It was warm here, and quiet. But when the black giant reached down and picked him up he made no protest. He was not even aware that he was being carried. Under this new burden, Bulldog found the going heavy in the swamp and made for the higher ground near the river bank. It was the wind coming up from the sea some two hours later that had a reviving effect on Judge Barringer. He opened his eyes to see a shadow a yard away. “Is that you, Bulldog?” he asked. “Yas-suh, Jedge, dis is me.” “If you won’t do anything, why do you stay here?” Judge Barringer said petulantly in his weakness. “Shucks, Jedge, we ain’ heah no mo’; we’s halfway to Ossabaw. Yo’ weighs like ce-ment, Jedge. When Ah gits me a li’l’ res’ we goes on.” “Halfway to Ossabaw?” “Yas-suh, Jedge.” Judge Barringer lapsed again. It was useless to try to argue with the crazy hyena. If Bulldog had made up his mind to take him to Ossabaw, he would have to go, being unable to resist. He saw a picture of himself as a fellow Crusoe, fugitive from justice with a chain-gang Negro. But if that leg of his lost its soreness, if he ever was able to get around again, he swore that it would be much better for Bulldog to have hanged. A sudden jolt, a feeling that he was floating, and he knew that they were on their way.