Sherwood was delirious during the night but not to the extent of the night before. In the morning he showed marked improvement, took his bitter dose of quinine as if he knew that it was good for him, drank an egg beaten up in milk, spoke affectionately to the red dogs and then to Jim McAllister, in puzzled tones, with something of recognition and more of fear and suspicion in his eyes.
“What are you going to do with me?” he asked.
“Take you home, Dick, and get a doctor for you,” replied Jim.
“What’s the idea?”
“I’m Jim McAllister. I live with my sister and young Ben O’Dell and your little girl—all one family—at O’Dell’s Point. And that’s where Noel and I mean to take you to. That’s the idea. So there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Where’s Louis Balenger?”
“You don’t have to worry about him any more. He’s dead.”
“Yes, I remember that. Noel and I buried him. You remember that, Noel? He was dead, wasn’t he?”
“Yep, he won’t never move no more,” replied the Maliseet.
“Did I shoot him?” asked the sick man.