s return he was lying under a redwood when his
partner approached him.

"You aren't uneasy in your mind about any unpaid bill--say a wash
bill--that you're owing?"

"Why?"

"There's a big nigger woman in camp looking for you; she's got a folded
account paper in her hand. It looks deucedly like a bill."

"There must be some mistake," suggested Fleming, sitting up.

"She says not, and she's got your name pat enough! Faulkner" (his other
partner) "headed her straight up the gulch, away from camp, while I came
down to warn you. So if you choose to skedaddle into the brush out there
and lie low until we get her away, we'll fix it!"

"Nonsense! I'll see her."

His partner looked aghast at this temerity, but Fleming, jumping to his
feet, at once set out to meet his mysterious visitor. This was no easy
matter, as the ingenious Faulkner was laboriously leading his charge up
the steep gulch road, with great politeness, but many audible misgivings
as to whether this was not "Jack Fleming's day for going to Jamestown."

He was further lightening the journey by cheering accounts of the recent
depredations of bears and panthers in that immediate locality. When
overtaken by Fleming he affected a start of joyful surprise, to conceal
the look of warning which Fleming did not heed,--having no eyes but
for Faulkners companion. She was a very fat negro woman, panting with
exertion and suppressed impatience. Fleming's heart was filled with
compunction.

"Is you Marse Fleming?" she gasped.

"Yes," said Fleming gently. "What can I do for you?"

"Well! Ye kin pick dis yar insek, dis caterpillier," she said, pointing
to Faulkner, "off my paf. Ye kin tell dis yar chipmunk dat when he comes
to showin' me mule tracks for b'ar tracks, he's barkin' up de wrong
tree! Dat when he tells me dat he sees panfers a-promenadin' round in de
short grass or hidin' behime rocks in de open, he hain't talkin' to no
nigger chile, but a growed woman! Ye kin tell him dat Mammy Curtis lived
in de woods afo' he was born, and hez seen more b'ars and mountain lyuns
dan he hez hairs in his mustarches."

The word "Mammy" brought a flash of recollection to Fleming.

"I am very sorry," he began; but to his surprise the negro woman burst
into a good-tempered laugh.

"All right, honey! S'long's you is Marse Fleming and de man dat took
dat 'ar pan offer Tinka de odder day, I ain't mindin' yo' frens'
bedevilments. I've got somefin fo' you, yar, and a little box