"We found him, William, right spang in front of Ike Varner's cabin—right thar, an' nowhar else. He war doin' his level best for to git on his feet, an' he tried to talk, but not more than two or three words did he say."
"Well, what did he say?" inquired Mr. Sanders.
"It was the same thing ever' time—'Why, Tolliver, Tolliver'—them was his very words."
"Are you right certain about that, Mahlon?" asked Mr. Sanders.
"As certain an' shore, William, as I am that I'm settin' here. Ef he said it once, he said it a dozen times."
"I reckon maybe he had been talking with young Tolliver before he came from town," remarked Mrs. Butts, noting Mr. Sanders's serious countenance.
"Whar was he wounded, Becky?" asked Mr. Sanders.
"Between the left ear and the temple."
"Becky's right, William," was the solemn comment of Mahlon. "Yes, sir, he was hit betwixt the year an' the temple."
"Did you have a doctor?"