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He was awakened at last by the sizzling of a goose getting its final basting. He started up, and Slamey said: "Hit's ready. I bet yo' feel betteh, now; six hours asleep!" It didn't seem like six minutes of dreamless recreation. With night the wind fell. The flood of sunset brilliance spread down the radiant sandbars and the bright waterways.
He was cautious, too, about the motorboat and the companion who had taken Carline down the river, till Slamey burst out: "I know that feller. He's a bad man; he's a river rat. If he don't kill Gus Carline, I don't know these yeah riveh fellers. They use down thisaway every winter. I know; I know them all. I leave them alone, an' they leave me alone.
The next day was calm all day long, and Terabon went up the bank to shoot squirrels or other woods game; he went almost up to the Plum Point, killed several head of game, and rejoiced in the bayous and sloughs and chutes of a changing land. The following morning he was hailed by Slamey: "Hi i, Terabon! Theh's a shanty-boat up the head of Flower Island Bar jes' drappin' in.
Having written his notes, and Jeff Slamey having fingered the nine loose-leaf sheets with exclamatory interest and delight, Terabon said he must go rest awhile. "Yas, suh," the fisherman cried, "when a man's pulled a hundred mile he shore needs sleep. When the woman's got that goose cooked, I bet yo'll be ready to eat, too." So Terabon turned in to sleep.
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