"Why, what?" I asked, sitting up, and wincing from my wounded shoulder.
"Our young friend has skipped in the night!"
"'Skipped?'" I exclaimed, with a curious ache at my heart.
"Sure enough! Gone off on that little nigger sloop that dropped in here yesterday afternoon, I guess."
"You don't mean it?"
"No doubt of it—I wonder whether you've had the same thought as I had."
"What do you mean?"
"You know I always said there was a mystery about that boy?"
"Well, what of it?"
"Did you notice the way he bound your shoulder last night?"