Even as I spoke the door was flung open, and honest Dick Wharton, with
the water pouring from him, stepped in, his hearty red face looming
through the haze like a harvest-moon. He shook himself, and after
greeting us sat down by the fire to warm himself.

"Where away, Dick, on such a night as this?" said I. "You'll find the
rheumatism a worse foe than the Kaffirs, unless you keep more regular
hours."

Dick was looking unusually serious, almost frightened, one would say,
if one did not know the man. "Had to go," he replied--"had to go. One
of Madison's cattle was seen straying down Sasassa Valley, and of course
none of our blacks would go down _that_ valley at night; and if we had
waited till morning, the brute would have been in Kaffirland."

"Why wouldn't they go down Sasassa Valley at night?" asked Tom.

"Kaffirs, I suppose," said I.

"Ghosts," said Dick.

We both laughed.

"I suppose they didn't give such a matter-of-fact fellow as you a sight
of their charms?" said Tom, from the bunk.

"Yes," said Dick, seriously, "yes; I saw what the niggers talk about;
and I promise you, lads, I don't want ever to see it again."

Tom sat up in his bed. "Nonsense, Dick; you're joking, man! Come, tell