"You don't say, Tim! What has happened?"
"Oh, 'twuzn't nuthin' wot occurred lately."
"To what do you refer then?" asked the perplexed sheriff.
"A leetle incident wot happened ter me when I wuz aboard o' the ole frigate Wabash in ther navy."
"Indeed! Was you in the navy?"
"A good many years, sir. Whar else did I git this leg blowed off?"
"You was just going to mention something that happened."
"Ay, ay. So I wuz. Yer see, it happened this way. We wuz a coastin' through ther Red Sea one brilln' arternoon, watchin' ther monkeys an' crocodiles on ther Arabian shore when all at onct I noticed a queer yaller-redness in ther sky on ther Afriky shore. It wuz caused by a simoom. Great clouds o' sand, driv' by the wind, wuz a-rushin' acrost ther desert toward ther ship, an' as it came out toward us, we seed we wuz doomed."
"You were in a mighty tight box," observed the sheriff, interestedly.
"Keel haul me if we wuzn't," agreed Tim, with a nod. "Waal, sir, we knowed that ther minute them ere clouds o' red-hot sand came down on ther ship, it would bury us an' bake us ter death. All my messmates wuz skeered ter death, an' droppin' down upon thar marrer bones about ther deck, they begun ter pray like sons of guns. Did I give away ter ther general panic? Not much.