The Fatal Cord Part 20

Lena Rook looked longer in that direction, for there was the man she most feared--her father.

Intimately acquainted with the precincts of the dwelling, and, of course, better able to tell if anything was stirring, she saw--what had escaped the notice of the body-stealers--the front door standing open!

It should have been shut; for, on coming out, she had carefully closed it behind her!

She had scarce made the discovery when she saw a figure in the doorway, that, after standing a moment as if to reconnoitre and listen, stole out into the porch, and then, stealthily descending the steps, glided crouchingly towards the cover of the orchard. Only for a moment was it under the moonlight; but the young girl had no difficulty in recognising the form of her father!

Something in his hands glistened in the moonlight. It appeared to be a gun.

Pierre's attention is called to it by a significant pressure on his arm.

Pierre also saw the flitting figure and knew whose it was.

The weasel, as Alf Brandon termed him, had not been asleep!

And just like a weasel he had acted; in sight only for six seconds, as he shot across the open s.p.a.ce between the porch and the peach trees.

Once among these, he was invisible to the only eyes that had seen him, those of his daughter and Pierre Robideau.

But both expected soon to see him again. He had not gone into the orchard for nothing, and his cat-like movements told that he had suspicion of something astir under the cottonwood, and was stealing round by the creek to approach it un.o.bserved.

Whether he yet saw the excavators could not be known, but he must have heard the clinking of their tools as he stood in the doorway.

Not one of them either heard or saw him, as, without pausing, they continued their work, Brandon having once again counselled them to silence.

"Darned if 'taint the bottom! I told you so," said Bill Buck, striking his spade point against the ground under his feet. "Thar's been neyther pick nor spade into this not since the days of old Noah, I reckon.

There! try for yourself, Alf Brandon!"

Brandon took the implement offered, and struck it upon the s.p.a.ce already stripped, and sunk some eighteen inches below the surface. The ring was that of solid earth that had never been disturbed by a spade.

He tried it in several places, all of which gave back the same sound!

"Clear out the loose mould!" commanded he.

This was done, and once more was the test applied.

"There's no grave there," remarked Randall.

"Nor body," said Spence.

"Not so much as a bone," added Buck; "no, nor never has been. Dog-gone my cats, if old Rook hasn't been humbuggin' us!"

"Ha-ha! He--he--he--he!"

The sounds thus represented were intended for a laugh, that came from the other side of the tree, and in a voice that did not belong to any of the excavating party.

Whatever mirth may have been in the man who uttered them, it failed to communicate itself to any of the six grave-diggers, all of whom, startled at the strange noise, stood staring wildly around them.

If the body for which they had been searching had suddenly appeared in their midst, and given utterance to that unearthly cachination, they could not have been more astonished.

And their astonishment lasted until a man, well known to them, stepped from behind the tree, and discovered himself in the clear moonlight.

"Jerry Rook, by the Eternal!"

STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE DIGGERS DISMISSED.

"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 k.u.m and sc.r.a.pe 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 princ.i.p.al 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 s.e.xagenarian, 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 darducks.h.i.+n, I'll gie you a clar receet, an' squar up the hul buzness now!"