“‘Tain’t so much that, Sheriff.  I kin stan’ it fer ter be up all night, but Bill wus tellin’ me we might hav’ som’ trouble down ter the Landin’ unless we finished up our job yere afore mornin’.”

“Oh, I reckon not; whut was it Bill said?”

“Quite a rigmarole frum furst ter last.  Giv’ me a light fer the pipe, will yer?”

There was a flare above me, and then darkness once more, and then the slow drawl of the man’s voice as he resumed.  “Some feller by the name ov McAdoo, down ter Saint Louee, who’s just com’ down frum the lead mines, tol’ him thet Joe Kirby got all this yere property in a game o’ kyards on the boat, an’ thet it wan’t no square game either.  I didn’t git it all straight, I reckon, but accordin’ ter the deal handed me thar wus two dead men mixed up in the affair—­Beaucaire, an’ a young army offercer.  Seems ter me his name wus Knox.”

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Well, enyhow, that’s the way Bill told it.  Beaucaire he naturally fell dead—­heart, er som’thin’—­an’ the other feller, this yere army man, he went out on deck fer ter see Kirby, an’ he never cum’ back.  McAdoo sorter reckoned as how likely he wus slugged, an’ throwed overboard.  An’ then, on top’ all that, we’re sent up yere in the night like a passel o’ thieves ter take these niggers down ter Saint Louee.  What do yer make ov it, Jake?”

“Wal,” said the other slowly, his mouth evidently loaded with tobacco, “I ain’t never asked no questions since I wus made sheriff.  I’m doin’ whut the court says.  Hell! thar’s trouble ’nough in this job without my buttin’ in on other people’s business.  But this is how it stacks up ter me.  Kirby’s got the law on his side—­no doubt ’bout that—­but I reckon as how he knows it wus a damn mean trick, and so he’s sorter skeered as ter how them fellers livin’ down ter the Landin’ might act.  Thar’s a lawyer thar named Haines, as sharp as a steel trap, who tended ter all the ol’ Jedge’s business, an’ Joe he don’t wanter run foul o’ him.  Thet’s why we tied up ter the shore below town, in the mouth o’ thet crick, an’ then hed ter hoof it up yere in the dark.  Of course we got the law with us, but we wanter pull this job off an’ not stir up no fight—­see?”

“Sure,” disgustedly.  “I reckon I know all that; I heerd the Jedge tell yer how we wus ter do the job.  But why’s Kirby in such a sweat ter git all these niggers down ter Saint Louee?”

“Ter sell ’em, an’ git the cash.  Onct they’re outer the way there won’t be no row.  He’ll let the land yere lie idle fer a year or two, an’ by that time nobody’ll care a whoop how he got it.  But he’s got ter git rid o’ them niggers right away.”

“Well, who the hell’s goin’ ter prevent?  They’re his’n, ain’t they?  Thar ain’t no Black Abolitionists ’round yere, I reckon.  I never know’d yer had ter run off your own niggers in the night, so’s ter sell ’em down South.  My Gawd, is this yere Mussury!”