The Fatal Cord, and The Falcon Rover

“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.