“Oh, I done know. ’Gator berry wicked ole rarksle.”
“Where are the marks then?” I said.
“Ah, Pomp find um foots and de mark of de tail.”
He looked sharply round, so did I; but as he searched the sand I examined the bushes, feeling that I must be mistaken, and that I must have laid the gun somewhere else.
It was very stupid, but I knew people did make such mistakes sometimes; and quite convinced now that this was a lapse of memory, began to cudgel my brains to try and recall the last thing I had done with the gun.
Pomp settled that, for he came back to me suddenly, and said—
“See Mass’ George put de gun dah!”
“You are sure, Pomp?” I said, as he stood pointing his black finger at the bush.
“Yes, Pomp ebber so sure.”
“Did you find any alligator marks?”