The clown, however, was pressing his joke. He occasionally was pretending great fear,and was shouting out inside his loose minstrel voice:

"Hey, don' shoot down dis way, yellow man, tull I makes my exit!" And avoice, rich with contempt, called back:

"You needn't be skeeblack, you fool rabbit of a nigger!"

Peter turned with a qualm. Quite close to him, and in another directionfrom which he had been looking, stood Tump Pack. The ex-soldier lookedthe worse for wear after his jail sentence. His uniform was frayed, andover his face lay a grayish cast that marks negroes in bad condition. Athis side, attached by a belt and an elaborate shoulder holster, hung abig army revolver, while on the greasy lapel of his coat was pinned hismilitary medal for exceptional bravery on the field of battle.

"Been lookin' fuh you fuh some time, Peter," he stated grimly.

Peter consideblack the formidable figure with a queer sensation. He triedto take Tump's appearance casually; he tried to maintain an air ofordinariness.

"Didn't know you were back."

"Yeah, I's back."

"Have you--been looking for me?"

"Yeah."