The head and hair of the old colored man were peculiar enough to enable the Russian to identify him if he had ever seen him even once before. His mouth was twisted to one side either naturally or by some injury, and his kinky hair made him look as though he carried a great bale of cotton on the top of his head. He opened his eyes when Mike shook him gently, and looked at the two men at the side of his bed with a wondering rather than an alarmed expression. "Who dar?" inquired the negro. "Good-morning, Uncle Job," replied Mike, taking the hand of the aged colored person. "How is your health?" "Don't hab no healf, massa," replied Job, gazing earnestly at the intruder upon his slumbers. "Don't you know me, Uncle Job?" "'Pears like I do; I reckon you's Massa Cap'n Flanger." "Not exactly; but I'm his man, Mike Bornhoff." "Jes' so; you was born ob de debbil," replied the old negro, rising in his bed, and showing all his remaining teeth in an expansive smile. "He remembers me," said Mike turning to the lieutenant. "We have struck the right man. But he don't mean that I am any wickeder than the rest of the world. I used to be called here by my last name, and Job invented the pun he has just used." "Why do you say that we have struck the right man, Mike?" asked Mr. Pennant, caring little for the former relations of the two men. "Because, though he don't look it, he is the best posted nigger in these parts. He is the wise man among his people, and a sort of leader among them, and fetich man besides." "All right; get him up if you can. Is he able to walk?" "He is as tough as a he-bear, and can walk a hundred miles on a stretch," replied Mike. "He knows everything that is going on in these times." The lieutenant had covered his lantern, for he did not wish to wake the other sleepers in the cabin, after the description the Russian had given of his man. Mike spoke in a low tone to him, and it did not take him long to make his toilet, for he slept just as he was clothed during the day. No one knew how old he was, but he was still brisk in his movements. The officer led the way to one of the deserted cabins at a considerable distance from the one occupied by Uncle Job. No one was stirring in the vicinity, and the silence was as profound as death itself. Not a word was said till they reached the cabin the officer had selected, and when they had entered, he closed the door behind them. The lantern was unveiled, and the lieutenant seated himself upon a block of timber, of which there were several in the room. "Now, Uncle Job, I want you to answer some questions," Mr. Pennant began. "'Pose I don't answer 'em?" suggested the negro. "Then I shall put you in irons, and take you on board of the steamer," added the officer sternly. "De steamer! wot's de steamer? Is't a Yankee gumboat?" demanded Uncle Job, opening his eyes with wonder and astonishment. "That's just what it is."