The old man stepped to the door and flung it wide.  The figure that had been crouching against it tumbled in and lay panting on the floor.

“Light me dat lamp, please, Peter,” said Neptune, peering down at his visitor.

Peter, who had recovered from his momentary fear, lighted the kerosene lamp.  By its light they perceived a stained, muddy, disheveled wretch, in the last state of terror and exhaustion.  Two wild eyes glared at them out of a gray, grimed face.

“Why, Jake!  Lawd ‘a’ mussy, hit ’s Jake!” burst from Daddy Neptune.  Peter recognized in the intruder a negro to whom the old man had been, as was his wont, fatherly kind.  On a time he and his wife had sheltered and fed Jake.

Peter didn’t know why, but something in the man’s aspect, in his rolling eyes, his lips drawn back from his teeth, his torn clothes, his desperate look of a hunted beast, made him recoil.  He had never before seen any one with just that look of brute cunning and terror.  Daddy Neptune’s steady eyes took in every detail.  He stiffened in his tracks.

“Whut you been doin’?” he demanded.  Jake turned his head from side to side; he refused to meet the direct old eyes.  He mumbled: 

“Is you got any w’isky, Da’ Nepshun?  For Gawd’s sake, Da’ Nepshun, gimme a drink en don’t ast me no questions twell I ’s able to answer.”  His voice was hoarse and shaking; his whole body shook.

“I ain’t got no w’isky, but I got coffee en bittles.  Whichin you is welcome to,” said Neptune.  “You ain’t say yit whut you been doin’.  Whut you been up to, Jake?”

Jake writhed off the floor.  Again Peter recoiled instinctively.  As the negro got upon his feet his coat fell open, and the torn sleeve and cuff of a gingham shirt showed.  On it was a dark stain which was not swamp water or mud.  Peter’s eyes fastened upon that dark red smear.

“Gimme a bite o’ bittles so ’s I kin git on,” implored Jake.

“I axes you once mo’, Jake:  whut you been doin’?” demanded Neptune.  His voice was stern, and his face began to set.

“En I axes you to lemme git dem bittles fust, en I’ll tell you, soon ’s I gits back mah wind,” returned Jake, sullenly.

Still retaining his gun, Neptune went to the corner cupboard, from which he took a loaf of bread.  Without cutting it he handed it to Jake, who began to tear it with his teeth.  All the while he ate, he kept turning his head, listening, listening.

“Cain’t wait for no coffee.  Gimme drink o’ water, please, suh.”  In silence Neptune handed him a gourd of water.  When Jake had gulped this down, Neptune asked again, inexorably: 

“Whut you been doin’, Jake?”

Jake shifted from one foot to the other.  He thrust his bullet head forward.  His hands, hanging at his sides, opened and closed, the fingers twitching.

“Dem w’ite mens is atter—­somebuddy—­en dey say hit ’s me,” he muttered hoarsely.  His eyes rolled toward the door, which, not having been barred after his entrance, swung slightly ajar.