When he opened his eyes again they were still on the go. His injured leg--it had been a flesh wound in the calf--was numb and did not pain him now. It occurred to him that he might even be able to walk. But the side-to-side sway, as he was carried along, seemed much easier; and besides, there was little weight to his body now; he felt as light as a feather. Years after, he was to look back at that moment and wonder what ever had put such a crazy notion in his head. He closed his eyes again. “Jedge Barringer!... Jedge Barringer!” Bulldog was calling to him, but it was cold and he did not want to get up. “Jedge Barringer!” That was not Bulldog’s voice. He roused himself with a great effort and sat up. A bent old Negro was on his knees before him, his face a picture of despair. Suddenly it was wreathed in smiles of thankfulness. “Jedge Barringer, yo’ is alive, thank de Lawd! Ah been callin’ yo’ fo’ de longes’ time until Ah jes’ ’bout reckon yo’ was a corp’.” “Daddy Ike!” Judge Barringer gasped. “Where did you come from? Where’s Bulldog?” “Down on de plantation, Jedge.” The old Negro’s face looked puzzled. “How come yo’ don’ know Ah ain’ nebber lef’ Ossabaw, Jedge?” And then Judge Barringer remembered. Ossabaw Island was the seat of the old Depford plantation, now only a relic of the past, and Daddy Ike was the oldest Negro in the section. He still lived in the old ramshackle slave quarters and eked out a living by fishing and raising truck. Everyone knew Daddy Ike, and yet Judge Barringer had forgotten until now. This was the reason they had come to Ossabaw. It was dawn. Bulldog had been carrying him all night. He owed his life to the big Negro. Daddy Ike misread the judge’s thoughts. “Bulldog he gone,” the old Negro said quickly. “Yo’ fergit all ’bout him, Jedge Barringer, while Ah helps yo’ to mah boat.” “That crazy nigger’s gone? Where?” “Yas-suh, Jedge, Bulldog’s de craziest nigger in de worl’. Why fo’ yo’ an’ me gib two goobers wheah dat fool nigger’s gone? Us is gwine to git yo’ home, Jedge. How’s yo’ laig?” Daddy Ike changed the subject. Judge Barringer smiled. “Daddy Ike, you old rascal, don’t lie to me. Bulldog saved my life. Where is he?” “Jedge Barringer, Ah don’ know. De las’ time Ah seed him he was sittin’ in mah house eatin’ hominy grits an’ side meat an’ yams an’ black-eye peas; an’ lissen to me, Jedge, if Ah don’t git yo’ home and git back dat crazy nigger’s gwine to eat me into de po’house. But Ah don’ know wheah he is now.” “All right,” Judge Barringer laughed. “We’ll see about that later. Where’s your boat, Daddy Ike? If you’ll give me a hand I think I can hobble.” “Dat’s right, Jedge, lets us go. Heah’s de boat. Bulldog he swum across to de island an’ like to scairt me senseless, comin’ up to mah do’ in dem chain-gang clo’s. Ah’d ’a’ come across to yo’ right away, Jedge, but dat crazy Bulldog said Ah got to feed him fust. If we don’ get yo’ home he’ll eat up all mah winter rations!”