Jerry Rook and his guest had scarce closed the door behind them, when a
man, who had been skulking behind the cottonwood, came out into the
front, and paused upon the spot they had abandoned.
He had been on the other side of the tree, from the time they had
commenced their conversation, and heard it all.
The man was Alfred Brandon!
What had brought Alfred Brandon back to the cottonwood?
The explanation is easy enough.
The six resurrectionists did not go to Helena, as Jerry Rook had hinted
they might do.
On getting out of Jerry's clearing, only five of them turned towards the
town, Brandon going off towards his own home, which was not far off, in
the opposite direction.
The planter, on parting with the others, instead of continuing
homewards, sat down upon a stump by the side of the path, and taking out
a cigar, commenced smoking it.
He had no particular reason for thus stopping on his way, only that
after such a disappointment he knew he could not sleep, and the cigar
might do something to compose his exasperated spirit.
The night was a lovely one, and he could pass a half-hour upon the stump
with reflections not more wretched than those that awaited him in his
sleeping-chamber.
He was still within earshot of Jerry Rook's house, and he had scarce
ignited his cigar, when a sound reached his ear from that direction.
It was the yelp of a hound, close followed by the animal's howling.
Soon after was heard the voice of a man speaking in harsh accents, and
soon after this another voice--a woman's.
On the still silent night they were borne to Brandon's ears with
sufficient distinctness for him to recognise them as the voices of Jerry
Rook and his daughter. It did not need either the angry accent of the
one, nor the affecting tone of the other, to draw Alf Brandon to the
spot.
Starting up from the stump, and flinging himself over the fence, he
proceeded towards the place where the voices were still heard in excited
and earnest conversation.
Had Brandon not feared discovering himself to the speakers, he might
have been up in time to see Pierre Robideau step forth from the cavity
of the tree, and Lena Rook protecting him from the wrath of her father.
But the necessity of approaching unobserved, by skulking along the creek
and keeping under cover of the canes, delayed him, and he only arrived
behind the cottonwood as the young lady was being ordered into the
house.
For Alfred Brandon, there was surprise enough without that. The
presence of Pierre Robideau, whose name he had heard distinctly
pronounced, with the sight of a tall form, dimly shaded under the tree,
which he knew must be that of the _murdered_ man, was sufficient to
astonish him to his heart's content.
It had this effect; and he stood behind the cottonwood, whose shelter he
had reached, in speechless wonder, trembling from the crown to the toes.
Though his fear soon forsook him, his wonder was scarce diminished, when
the dialogue between Jerry Rook and Pierre Robideau furnished him with a
key to the mysterious re-appearance of the latter upon the banks of
Caney Creek.
"God a mercy!" gasped he, stepping from behind the huge tree trunk, and
looking after them as they were entering the house. "Here's news for
Messrs. Buck, Slaughter, Grubbs, Spence, and Randall! Glad they'll be
to hear it, and at last get relief from their debts. This I reckon'll
cancel it.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, adding a fearful oath; "it's all very well for them,
but what matters the money to me? I'd pay it ten times over and all my
life to have that girl; and hang me if I don't have her yet for a wife
or for worse. Choc still alive and kicking! Cut down then before he
got choked outright! Darned if I didn't more than half suspect it from
the way old Rook talked about the burying of the body. The precious old
pirate; hasn't he bilked us nicely?
"Mr Pierre Robideau! yes that was the name, and this is the very
fellow. I remember his voice, as if it were but yesterday. Missing for
six years! Been to California! and picked up fifty thousand worth of
yellow gravel! Lodged it in a bank, too, at San Francisco. No doubt
going there again, and will be wanting to take Lena Rook along with
him."
At this thought another fierce oath leaped from his lips, and the light
of the fire-flies as they flitted past his face showed an expression
upon it that might have done credit to the stage of a suburban theatre.
"Never!" he ejaculated. "Never shall _she_ go, if I can find means to
prevent it."
He stood for a time reflecting.
"There's a way," he again broke forth, "a sure way. Buck would be the
man to lend a hand in it. He's crazed about the girl himself, and when
he knows there's no chance for him, and thinks it's this fellow stands
in the way; besides, he wants money, and wouldn't mind risking something
to get it. Buck's the man!"
"If he don't I'll do it myself. I will, by the Etarnal! I'd rather die
upon the scaffold than this Indian should have her--he or any one else.
I've been wild about her for six years. Her refusing has only made me
worse.
"There can't be much danger if one only gets the chance. He's been away
once, and nobody missed him. He can go gold gathering again--this time
never to return. He shall do it."
An oath again clinched the ambiguous threat.
Apparently relieved by having expressed his dark determination, he
proceeded in a calmer strain.
"Won't they be glad to hear of this resurrection! I wonder if they're
still at Slaughter's. They went there--sure to be there yet. I'll go.
It'll make their hearts happier than all the liquor in the tavern. Good
night, Jerry Rook! Take care of your guest. Next time he goes off it
won't be by your sending of him."
After this sham apostrophe he struck off across the field, and, once
more clambering over the fence, he took the road leading to Helena.