"Pay attention, Cudjo, while I tell ye," said Pomp, stooping, and laying his finger on the deformed shoulder. Cudjo looked up, with his hands and knife still in the opossum's flesh. "This is the way of it, as I heard last night from Pepperill himself, who got into trouble, as you know, by befriending old Pete after his licking. And you know, don't you, how Pete came by his licking?"
"Bein' out nights, totin' our meal and taters to de mountains,—dough I reckon de patrol didn't know nuffin' 'bout dat ar, or him wouldn't got off so easy!" said Cudjo.
"Well, it was by befriending Pepperill, who had befriended Pete, who brings us meal and potatoes, that this man got the ill will of those villains. Do you understand?"
"Say 'em over agin, Pomp. How, now? Lef me see! Dat ar's old Pete," sticking up a finger to represent him. "Dat ar's Pepperill," sticking up a thumb. "Now, yonder is dis yer man, and here am we. Now, how is it, Pomp?"
Pomp repeated his statement, and Cudjo, pointing to his long, black finger when Pete was alluded to, and tapping his thumb when Pepperill was mentioned, succeeded in understanding that it was indirectly in consequence of kindness shown to himself that Penn had come to grief.
"Dat so, Pomp?" he said, seriously, in a changed voice. "Den 'pears like dar's two white men me don't wish dead as dis yer possom! Pepperills one, and him's tudder."
Pomp, having made this explanation, walked softly to the bedside. He had not before perceived that Penn, lying so still there, was awake. His features lighted up with intelligence and sympathy on making the discovery, and finding him free from feverish symptoms.
"Well, how are you getting on, sir?" he said, feeling Penn's pulse, and seating himself on one of the giant's stools near the bedstead.
"Where am I?" was Penn's first anxious question.
"I fancy you don't know very well where you are, sir," said the negro, with a smile; "and you don't know me either, do you?"