It was verily a day of rest for the four wanderers. The balance of it was spent lying on their soft moss couches in the warm sunshine talking over past events and planning for the future.
With the night came Watson again to sit in the shadows by their camp and listen greedily to what they could tell him of the world outside. In spite of the man's bloody record of crime, they could not help a touch of pity for his loneliness. And the truth was more indelibly stamped on their minds that evil brings its own punishment.
They told him about the theft of the captain's clothes, and he listened attentively.
"I guess it was Black Sam took them," he commented. "He was in rags the last glimpse I got of him. He certainly needs clothes but I guess you need them worse. I'll get them back for you."
"Strangers," he said, as he rose to go, "I want you to do me a big favor. When you get outside send me a copy of the Atlanta Constitution. I ain't heard a thing of Georgia in years. Send it to Marco, care of Indian Charley, and I'll get it all right."
Charley promised him they would do so.
In the morning when they awoke, the captain's clothes were lying beside the fire.
They never knew exactly how Watson made Black Sam relinquish his prize but there was a large blood-stain on the shoulder of the cleanly-washed shirt and they formed their own opinion.