“Seems like I’ve seen them before,” Doss said in a low voice; “I believe they’re old timers. Hello, boys! Hunting?”
“Yes, suh! Lots of game. Sho, ain’ yo’ Doss, Ren Doss?”
“You bet. I knew you! I told Mr. Carline, here, that I knew you, that I’d seen you before! I’m glad to see you boys again. Catch a line there.”
No doubt about it, they were old friends. In a minute they were shaking hands all around, then went into the shanty-boat, and they sat down in assorted chairs, and Doss, Jet, and Cope exchanged the gossip of a river year.
Carline’s eyes searched about him with interest, and the three men watched him more and more openly. When he walked toward the bow of the boat, where the slope of the yellow sand led up to the woods of Flower Island, one of them casually left his seat and followed.
Carline looked at the stand of guns in the cabin corner 143 and started with surprise. He reached and picked up one of them to look at it.
“Why,” he shouted, “this is my shot gu––”
No more. His light went out on the instant and he felt that he was suspended in mid-air, poised between the abyss and the heavens.