three men left the landing place of the airplane and started for tickfall, four miles away.

the rev. vinegar atts arrived first because he was in a hurry, and ran every step. he staggered into the hen-scratch saloon in the last stages of physical exhaustion, and dropped down in a chair beside a table.

three negroes sprang to their feet, terrified by the colored clergyman’s appearance and manner.

“whut ails you, vinegar?” skeeter butts exclaimed. “you look like you done been run by a ha’nt!”

“wusser ’n dat, nigger,” vinegar panted, as he wiped the copious perspiration from his bald head, and reached out a trembling hand for the reviving drink which figger bush had thoughtfully brought him. “i done seen a chariot of fire come straight down from de glory of de lawd!”

hitch diamond glanced at the empty glass, and then nodded significantly to skeeter butts.

“don’t gib him any more, skeeter,” he suggested. “de revun is done had too many drams already.”

“’tain’t so,” vinegar grunted. “i ain’t drunk. i’m seein’—things!”

“i ketch on,” hitch chuckled. “i done seen things in my day, too. i seen a purple elerphunt wunst. i wus settin’ on de side of a puffeckly straight wall ticklin’ one of dese here ukuleles. whar you been at? whut else did you see?”

“been out in de swamp. seen a chariot of fire come down outen de sky. i heard it zoonin’ fer a long time—sounded like a automobile. all de birds in de woods flew up to see it, an’ squalled like dey wus skeart to death. it lit out in de little moccasin prairie.”

“whut happened when she lit?” figger bush inquired.

“i didn’t stay to see,” vinegar sighed. “fer a fack, i wus makin’ myse’f absent befo’ she lit.”

suddenly skeeter butts began to laugh. he slapped his brown hand upon his thigh and cackled like a hen. the more he laughed the funnier something got to him.

“i knows whut ails vinegar, brudders,” he snickered. “he’s done see a——”

skeeter’s assertion paused in midair, because the door of the hen-scratch saloon was pushed open, and the second man had arrived from moccasin prairie.

this man was a stranger, and was built on circular lines, round head, round eyes, round face, round body. his character and modes of thought and action also followed curved lines. there was nothing straight about him.

“good evenin’, brudders,” he greeted them. “my name am red cutt. kin you-alls tell me whut town dis is?”

“how come you don’t know whar you is at?” skeeter asked suspiciously.

“i jes’ landed,” red cutt remarked simply.

“didn’t de train corndoctor tell you whar you wus gittin’ off?” hitch diamond rumbled. “or mebbe you rid de brake rods?”

“naw, suh,” red cutt replied smilingly. “i rode through de air.”

“gimme somepin to hold on to, niggers,” figger bush snickered, as he sat down with pretended weakness in a chair and grasped the legs of the table. “here’s one nigger whut says he seen a chariot of fire, and here comes a secont nigger whut says he took a ride in it.”

“’twarn’t no chariot of fire,” cutt said easily. “it was a airship. didn’t none of you niggers ever see no airplane?”

“suttinly,” skeeter butts answered. “i done seen a millyum of ’em in n’awleens. but you is de fust cullud aviator i’s seen.”

“dar ain’t many in de worl’,” cutt said quietly. “i reckin i’m about de fust nigger flier in de worl’.”

“listen to dat,” vinegar atts exploded. “ef i hadn’t been so skeart i’d ’a’ had good comp’ny back to town.”

“wus you de brudder dat wus bellerin’ so loud?” cutt inquired. “i heard somebody, but i couldn’t locate ’em. i couldn’t find no good landin’ place close to town. i wus skeart i’d tear up a lot of fences an’ telegram poles ef i landed in tickfall. i wus skeart i’d hab to pay fer ’em. so i landed out in de swamp.”

“dat wus right,” figger bush laughed. “no tickfall niggers, excusin’ skeeter butts, is got to see a airship, an’ i b’lieves dat skeeter is lyin’. ef you’d landed in town, all us tickfalls would hab fell in a well or run ourselfs to death.”

at this moment the green-baize doors of the saloon were pushed open and a white man entered. the third man had arrived in tickfall.

at first glance he appeared to be a mechanic. his hands were large, black with the grime of machinery, and hard. his face and clothes were streaked with grease. the skin of his face had been whipped by the air until it was tanned like leather.

“good evenin’ boss,” skeeter exclaimed, standing up and taking the stranger in at a glance. “er—dis here is a cullud bar, an’ us cain’t serve de white——”

“i don’t want a drink,” the young man answered. “i want some information. do any of you know where mr. arsene chieniere lives?”

there was silence for a moment, then vinegar interpreted:

“he means mr. arson shinny!”

“o—suttinly, suh,” skeeter exclaimed. “he lives right straight out dis road whut goes in front of dis saloon. i seen miss jew-ann shinny pass here to-day—gwine todes home.”

“miss juan?” the young man asked, giving the beautiful latin pronunciation, and speaking the word like a caress.

“dat’s de lady,” skeeter answered. “dey lives ten miles out on dis here road.”

“where can i hire a flivver to take me out there?”

“i’s de only taxi-man in town,” skeeter said, as he reached for his cap. “i’ll take you out dar in twenty minutes fer two dollars.”

“get busy,” the young man answered, as he sat down to wait.

the other three negroes sat whispering to each other for a few minutes, then vinegar inquired:

“beg pardon, boss; ain’t you a railroad man?”

“yes,” the stranger answered, with a barely perceptible hesitation.

“i knowed it,” vinegar chuckled. “i bet miss jew-ann shinny is gwine be glad to see you!”

“i’ll go to see now,” the young man smiled, as he heard skeeter’s machine at the door.