"Yes, Jerry Rook, by the Eternal!" exclaimed the old hunter, with
another mocking laugh. "An' why thet, I shed like to know? Do it
astonish ye to see a man by the side o' his own gurden? I reckin this
chile hev got more reezun to be surprised at seem you hyar, one an' all
o' ye. Who air ye anyhow?" he asked, drawing nearer to the party, and
pretending to examine their faces. "Ef this chile ain't mistaken he
heard Bill Buck among ye. Yes, Billee, thet's you, an' Mr Planter
Brandon, an' as thar's four more o' ye, I reckin' I kin guess who the
t'others air. An' what mout ye a been doin'? Spades and shovels! Ho--
ho! ye've been a grave-diggin', hev ye? Wal, I hope ye've goed deep
enough. You're a gwine to berry somebidy, air ye?"
There was no reply. The six excavators had thrown down their tools, and
stood in sullen silence.
"Maybe ye were arter the other thing. Doin' a bit of dissinterry as
they call it? Wal, I hope ye foun' what ye hev been rootin' for?"
Still no response.
"An' so, Mr Bill Buck, you think thet Jerry Rook hez been a humbuggin'
ye?"
"I do," replied Buck, doggedly.
"And so do I."
"Yes; so all of us."
"Oh! ye're agreed beout thet, air ye? Wal, ye ain't a gwine to humbug
_me_ as ye've been jest now a tryin'. I warn't sech a precious fool as
to put the poor young fellur's karkiss whar you could kum and scrape it
up agin whenever you'd a mind. Ne'er a bit o't. I've got it safer
stowed than that, an' I'll take care o't too, till ye refuse to keep to
your contract. When any o' ye do that I'll then do a bit o' dissenterry
myself, you see ef I don't."
The discomfited excavators had once more relapsed into silence. Having
nothing to say by which they could justify themselves, they made no
attempt. It was no use to deny either what they had been doing, or its
design. Jerry Rook saw the one, and guessed the other.
"Ye 'pear very silent beout it," he continued, jeeringly. "Wal, ef
you've got nothing to say, I reckin you'd better all go hum to yur beds
an' sleep the thing over. Preehaps some o' ye may dream whar the body
air laid. Ha--ha--ha!"
They were not all silent, though their speech was not addressed to him.
There was whispering among themselves, in which Bill Buck and Slaughter
took the principal part; and had there been lights enough for Jerry Rook
to see the faces of these two men, and the demoniac fire in their eyes,
as they glanced at him, and then towards the spades, he might have
changed his hilarious tune, and, perhaps, made hasty retreat into the
house.
There was a suggestion that the half-dug grave should be deepened, and a
body put into it--the body of Jerry Rook! It came from Slaughter, and
was backed by Bill Buck. But the others were not plucky enough for such
an extreme measure; and the old squatter was spared. Perhaps his rifle
had something to do with the decision. They saw that he had it with
him, and, although Jerry Rook was a sexagenarian, they knew him to be a
sure and deadly shot. He would not be conquered without a struggle.
"What the ole Nick air ye whisperin' 'beout?" he asked, seeing them with
their heads together. "Plotting some kind o' a conspyracy, air ye?
Wal, plot away. Ef ye kin think o' any way that'll git ye clear o'
payin' me your hundred dollars apiece pree-annum, I'd like to hear it.
I know a way, myself, maybe you'd like to hear it?"
"Let's hear it, then!"
"Wal, I am open to a offer, or, I'll make one to you; whichsomever you
weesh."
"Make it!"
"Durn it, don't be so short 'beout it. I only want to be accommodatin'.
Ef you'll each an' all o' ye pay me five hundred a piece, down on the
nail, an' no darduckshin, I'll gie you a clar receet, an' squar up the
hul buzness now!"
"We can't give you an answer now, Jerry Rook," interposed the planter,
without waiting for the others. "We shall consider your proposal, and
tell you some other time."
"Wal, tak' yur own time; but remember, all o' ye, thet Saturday nex air
the day of the annival settlin'; an' don't fail to meet me at the usooal
place. I hain't no spare beds, or I'd ask you all in; but I s'pose
ye'll be a goin' back wi' Mr Slaughter thar, an' havin' a drink by way
o' night cap? Don't forgit your spades; they mout git stole ef you left
'em hyar."
This bit of irony terminated the scene, so far as the disappointed
resurrectionists were concerned, who, like, a band of prowling jackals,
scared from a carcass, turned in their tracks and sneaked sulkily away.
"He! he! he!" chuckled the old pirate, as he stood watching them. "Out
of the field--he! he! he!" he continued, stooping over the fresh turned
earth, and examining their work. "They _war_ playin' a game wi' poor
cards in thar hand--the set o' cussed greenhorns! Durnation!"
That this last exclamation had no reference to the episode just ended,
was evident from the cloud that passed over his countenance while giving
utterance to it. Something else had come into his thoughts, all at once
changing them from gay to grave.
"Durnation!" he repeated, stamping on the ground, and glancing angrily
around him. "I'd most forgotten it! Whar kin the gurl hev gone?
"Ain't in her bed; nor ain't a been this night! _Ain't_ in the house
neyther! Whar kin she be?"
"I thort I mout a foun' her hyar; but this hain't hed nuthin' ter do wi'
her. It kedn't a' hed.
"Durn me, ef I don't b'lieve she's goed out to meet some un'; an',
maybe, that same fellar as shot the snake! Who the red thunder kin he
be? By the Eturnal, ef't be so, I'll put a eend to his snake shooting!
"Whar _kin_ the gurl be? I shall look all night, or I'll find her. She
ain't in the orchart, or I'd a seed her comin' through. An' shurly she
ain't goed across the crik? Maybe she's strayed up behint the stable or
the corn-cribs? I'll try thar."
The hearts of the lovers, so long held in a suspense, almost agonising,
began to beat more tranquilly as they saw him pass away from the spot.
It was but a short respite, lasting only the time occupied by Jerry Rook
in taking ten steps.
A hound, beating about the field, had strayed up to the tree and poked
his snout into the cavity where they stood concealed.
A short, sharp yelp, followed by a growl, proclaimed the presence of
something that ought not to be there.
"Yoicks! good dog!" cried the ci-devant hunter, quick harking to the
cry. "What you got thar?"
Hastily returning to the tree, and stopping in front of the dark
entrance, he continued--
"Somebidy inside thar? Who air it? Lena, gurl, is't you?"
Silence broken only by the baying of the hound.
"Hush up, you brute!" cried his master, driving off the dog with a kick.
"Hear me thar, you inside! 'Tain't no good playin' possum. Ef it's
you, Lena gurl, I command ye to come out."
Thus summoned, the girl saw it would be no use disobeying. It could
serve no purpose, and would only end in her father stepping inside the
cavity and dragging her angrily forth.
"I'll go," she whispered to her companion. "But stay you, Pierre, and
don't stir! He'll think I'm alone."
Pierre had no chance to remonstrate, for on speaking the words, she
stepped hastily out, and stood face to face with her father.
"So, so! I've foun' you at last, hev I? An' that's the hole in which
ye war hidin', is it? Nice place that for a young lady, as ye think
yurself, at this time o' night! An' a nice party yer been hevin' clost
to ye! Come, gurl! No denial o' what you've been doin'; but give an
explanation o' yurself! How kim ye to be hyar?"
"O, father! I was walking about. It was such a beautiful night, and I
couldn't sleep. I thought I'd come out into the field and have a stroll
down here to the old tree. I was standing under it when I saw them
coming up--Alf Brandon and the others--"
"Wal, go on!"
"I couldn't get back without their seeing me, and as I was afraid of
them, I slipped inside the hollow."
"An' ye war thar all the time, war ye?"
"Yes; all the time."
"Wal, and what did yur hear?"
"A great deal, father. It'll take time to tell it all. If you'll come
on into the house, I can repeat better what was said by them. I'm so
frightened after what I heard, I want to get away from this horrid
place."
It was a commendable stratagem to secure the retreat of her lover.
Unfortunately it did not succeed. The old squatter was too cautious to
be so easily deceived.
"O, yes," he said; "I'll go 'long wi' ye into the house; but not afore
I've fust seed whether thar ain't somethin' else in the holler o' this
tree."
His daughter trembled as he gazed towards the entrance, but her
trembling turned to a convulsive agony, as she heard the cocking of his
rifle, and saw him point it towards the dark cavity in the trunk.
With a wild cry, she sprang forward, placing herself right before the
muzzle of the gun.
Then, in the terrible agitation of the moment, forgetting all else, she
shouted:
"Come out, Pierre, come out!"
"Pierre!" cried the furious father. "What Pierre?"
"Oh, father, it is Pierre Robideau!"
It was well Lena Rook had grasped the barrel of the rifle and turned it
aside, else along with the last speech the bullet would have passed
through the body of Pierre, instead of over his head.
But it was now too late, and Jerry Rook saw it.
The young man had sprung out, and was standing by his side.
Any attempt at violence on his part would have ended by his being dashed
instantly to the earth. Beside Pierre Robideau he was like an old
wasted wolf in the presence of a young, strong panther.
He felt his inferiority, and cowered upon the instant.
He even assumed the counterfeit of friendship.
"Oh, 'tair you, Pierre, is it? I wouldn't a knowed yer. It's so long
since I've seed yer. You kin go in, gurl. I want to hev some talk wi'
Pierre."
Lena looked as though she would have stayed. It was a look of strange
meaning, but it wore off as she reflected that her lover could be in no
danger now, and she walked slowly away.