"
The black eyes searched my face, and I noted his right hand touch the
hilt of a knife in his belt.
"What water is this?" I asked, ignoring his action, "bayou?"
"Oui, M'sieur."
"Are we near the sea?"
"Twenty-seex mile. You not know where you are? 'Tis odd you not know,
M'sieur."
I laughed, enjoying his bewilderment, yet not realizing how to turn it
to better account.
"Oh, no. I came by train in the night, and am a little hazy as to
location. You live about here?"
"Som'time; then off again--sailor."
I nodded to prove I understood, but the man stopped uneasily.
"Whare Coombs? You know, M'sieur?"
"_No_, I don't," I acknowledged. "Asleep in his cabin likely."
The Creole, for such he undoubtedly was, made a swift resolve.
"'Tis like, M'sieur. I find out, maybe you come too!"
The last was more of an order than a question, and the fellow stepped
back slightly in a manner almost a threat. Understanding the
significance of the gesture I gave it no apparent heed, but turned in
the direction of the cabins. I had no reason to avoid Coombs; indeed,
I desired to see him, and I had no intention of permitting this lad to
suppose that I feared his veiled threats. Without so much as glancing
back at him I advanced along the footpath, my hands in my pockets.
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