"I think—you are my preserver—are you not?"
"That's a subject we will not talk about just now, sir; for you must keep very quiet."
"I know," said Penn, not to be put off so, "I owe my life to you!"
"Dat's so! dat ar am a fac'!" cried Cudjo, approaching, and wrapping the warm opossum skin about his naked arm as he spoke. "Gorry! me sech a brute, me war for leavin' ye dar in de lot. But, Pomp, him wouldn't; so we toted you hyar, and him's doctored you right smart eber sence. He ar a great doctor, Pomp ar! Yah!" And Cudjo laughed, showing two tremendous rows of ivory glittering from ear to ear; capering, swinging the opossum skin over his head, and, on the whole, looking far more like a demon of the cave than a human being.
"Go about your business, Cudjo!" said Pomp. "You mustn't mind his freaks, sir," turning to Penn. "You are a great deal better; and now, if you will only remain quiet and easy in your mind, there's no doubt but you will get along."
Many questions concerning himself and his friends came crowding to Penn's lips; but the negro, with firm and gentle authority, silenced him.
"By and by, sir, I will tell you everything you wish to know. But you must rest now, while I see to making you a suitable broth."
And nothing was left for Penn but to obey.