“There was a stranger tale he began to tell me--a tale of a swamp-land to the southeast and of monstrous, yellow earth creatures that heaved themselves out of the mire. Then I was sure he was crazed. I knew of the giant armadillos and great sloths, but it was none of these. He was loath to continue, and parried my questions. He wanted to know of things in the world that he would never again see. He wanted to tell me of John L. Sullivan and of Jake Kilrain, or of sordid crimes that had interested him. Above all he wanted to talk of eating, of ham and eggs, of bread and cheese and beer. Once, for instance, when he had begun to tell me something of the Chequas, he broke off quite unexpectedly, and apropos of nothing went into a little rhapsody. ‘Say,’ he said, ‘this ’ere is a dull place. I often think of colors, and there’s a bird all colors, and I always think of when you hold a glass of whiskey up to the light. Lord! Lord!’ At that he fell into a reverie and sat hunched, his chin on clenched fist. Then he grew melancholy. ‘These ’ere fellers in my tribe, they got me goin’, they ’ave. It’s work, work, work. An’ if I don’t, it’s punishment tied up to a ant’s nest.’ “His talk was jumbled, disjointed, and I had much ado to get something from him relative to the country. Very little I got, after all. We had talked for perhaps a couple of hours when a ululation filled the air. ‘It’s them blacks callin’ me,’ he said, leaping to his feet. Now, while I was not anxious for his company, I felt an urge to invite him to go with me; but, to my relief, he refused on the ground that his masters would follow, capture and kill him. When the ululation was again heard, he seemed panic-stricken, stood a moment irresolute, then turned and fled into the bush as a dog would on hearing the insistent call.” The man stopped, and I hazarded the remark that it was strange to meet a white man thus, because the chances against an encounter were slight. “That’s so,” he said. “And the reference to those strange earth creatures. Didn’t you learn anything further?” He looked at me and shook his head doubtfully, and a little puzzled frown appeared and disappeared. “No. But I may have seen one, too. I don’t know.” “May I hear?” I asked. “There’s nothing to tell, because I’m not sure. And yet--” He passed his hand over his brow. “I may have been mistaken. It was after I had left the gentle people, and I was not myself then. I was worried, grieved, half-starved. It is all muddled.