I looked sharply round at the bush, hardly comprehending my black
companion's remark.
"What?" I said, in a confused way.
"Wha dat gun?"
"I stood it up against that bush," I said; and then, shaking off the
dull stupid feeling which troubled me, darted to the bush, expecting to
see that it had slipped down among the little branches.
The gun was gone, and I looked round at the other bushes dotted about.
"I put it here, didn't I?"
"Yes; Mass' George put um gun dah. Pomp know," he cried, running to me,
and dropping on his knees as he pointed to the impression left in the
dry sand by the butt. "Gun gone down dah."
He began scratching up the sand for a few moments, and I watched him,
half hoping and believing that he might be right.
But the boy ceased as quickly as he had begun.
"I know, Mass' George," he cried, starting up and gazing toward the
river. "'Gator 'fraid we come shoot um, and come out of de ribber and
'teal a gun."
"Nonsense! An alligator wouldn't do that."
"Oh, I done know. 'Gator berry wicked ole rarksle."
"Where are the marks then?" I said.
"Ah, Pomp find um foots and de mark of de tail."
He looked sharply round, so did I; but as he searched the sand I
examined the bushes, feeling that I must be mistaken, and that I must
have laid the gun somewhere else.
It was very stupid, but I knew people did make such mistakes sometimes;
and quite convinced now that this was a lapse of memory, began to cudgel
my brains to try and recall the last thing I had done with the gun.