e tell the ole woman that
he's goin' to make three dollars a dozen outen them quail. I didn't
larn nothing this arternoon, howsomever. Them fellers must a seed me
lookin' through the cracks, kase they didn't tell him what they was
agoin' to tell him when they fust come up to the fence."

Dan walked about for an hour or more, talking in this way to himself.
The squirrels frisked and barked all around him, but he did not seem
to hear them. He was so busy thinking over his troubles that he
scarcely knew where he was going, until at last he found himself
standing on the banks of a sluggish bayou that ran through the swamp.
The stream was wide and deep, and near the middle of it and opposite
the spot where Dan stood, was a little island thickly covered with
briers and cane. It was known among the settlers as Bruin's Island.
Dan knew the place well. Many a fine string of goggle-eyes had he
caught at the foot of the huge sycamore which grew at the lower end
of the island, and leaned over the water until its long branches
almost touched the trees on the main shore, and it was here that he
had trapped his first beaver. More than that, the island had been a
place of refuge for his father during the war. He retreated to it on
the night the levee was blown up by the Union soldiers, and spent the
most of his time there until all danger of capture was past.

When Dan appeared upon the bank of the bayou a dark object, which was
crouching at the water's edge near the foot of the sycamore, suddenly
sprang up and glided into the bushes out of sight. Its movements were
quick and noiseless, but still they did not escape the notice of Dan,
who dropped on the instant and hid behind a fallen log that happened
to be close at hand. He did not have time to take a good look at the
object, but he saw enough of it to frighten him thoroughly. He thrust
his cocked rifle cautiously over the log, directing the muzzle toward
the sycamore, but his hand was unsteady and his face was as white as
a sheet.

"Looked to me like a man," thought Dan, trembling in every limb, "but
in course it couldn't be; so it's one of them haunts what lives in
the General's lane."

Dan kept his gaze directed across the bayou, and could scarcely
restrain himself from jumping up and taking to his heels when he saw
a head, covered with a torn and faded hat, raised slowly and
cautiously above the leaning trunk of the sycamore. It remained
motionless for a moment and Dan's eye