Part 8

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 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.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A COMPANION.

For some seconds Jerry Rook stood in the shadow without saying a word, but thinking intensely.

His thoughts were black and bitter. The return of Pierre Robideau would be nothing less than ruin to him, depriving him of the support upon which for years he had been living. Once Buck, Brandon, and Co. should ascertain that he they supposed dead was still living, not only would the payment be stopped, but they might demand to be recouped the sums of which he had so cunningly mulcted them.

He had not much fear of this last.

If they had not actually committed murder, they would still be indictable for the attempt; and though, under the circumstances, they might not fear any severe punishment, they would yet shrink from the exposure.

It was not the old score that Jerry Rook was troubled about, but the prospect now before him. No more black mail; no money from any source; and Alf Brandon his creditor, now released from the bondage in which he had hitherto been held, spited by the rejection of yesterday, would lose no time in coming down upon him for the debt.

The quondam squatter saw before him only a feature of gloom and darkness--ejection from his ill-gotten home and clearing--a return to his lowly life--to toil and poverty--along with a dishonoured old age.

Mingling with these black thoughts, there was one blacker--a regret that he had not pulled the trigger in time!

Had he shot Pierre Robideau inside the tree all would have been well. No one would have known that he had killed him; and to his own daughter he could have pleaded ignorance that there was any one inside. Much as she might have lamented the act, she could scarcely have believed it wilful, and would have said nothing about it.

It was too late now. To kill the young man as he stood, in the darkness--it might still have been done--or even at a later time, would be the same as to murder him under the eyes of his daughter. From what she now knew the hand of the assassin could not be concealed.

These thoughts occupied Jerry Rook scarce any time. They came and passed like lightning that flashes deadly through dark clouds.

This prolonged silence was due to other thoughts. He was reflecting on what course he would take with the man, whose unexpected appearance had placed him in such a dilemma.

Turning to the latter, he at length spoke--

"How long 've ye been back, Pierre?"

The tone of pretended kindness did not deceive the returned gold-seeker.

"I came into the neighbourhood yesterday," he replied, coldly.

"Have ye seed any one that know'd ye?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Ye'll excuse me for bein' a leetle rough wi' ye. I war a bit flurried 'beout the gurl bein' out, not knowin' who she wur with. There's a lot o' fellars arter her, an' it's but right I shed be careful."

Pierre could not object to this.

"Of course," pursued Jerry, after another pause of reflection, "ye heerd all that passed atween me an' that lot o' diggers?"

"Every word of it."

"An' I suppose you know who they war?"

"Yes; I have good reason."

"Yu're right thar. Ye'll be knowin' then why this chile ain't livin' any more in the ole shanty, but in a good, comftable frame-house, wi' a clarin' roun' it?"

"Yes, Jerry Rook, I think I understand that matter."

"Yur won't wonder, then, why I tuk so much pains, six years ago, to send yur out o' the way? No doubt yur did wonder at that?"

"I did; I don't now. It is all clear enough!"

"An' I reck'n it'll be equally clar to ye, thet yur comin' back ain't a gwine to do _me_ any good. Jest ruinates me, that's all."

"I don't see that, Jerry Rook."

"Ye don't! But this chile do. The minute any o' them six sets eyes on yur my game's up, an' thar's nothin' more left but clear out o' this, an' take to the trees agin. At my time o' life that ere'll be pleasant."

"You mean that by my showing myself you would lose the six hundred dollars per annum I've heard you make mention of."

"Not only thet, but--I reckin I may as well tell yer--I am in debt to Alf Brandon, an' it war only by his believin' in your death I hev been able to stave it off. Now, Pierre Robideau!"

In his turn the gold-seeker stood reflecting.

"Well, Jerry Rook," he rejoined, after a time, "as to the black mail you've been levying on these six scoundrels, I have no particular wish to see them relieved of it. It is but a just punishment for what they did to me, and to tell you the truth, it has, to some extent, taken the sting out of my vengeance, for I had come back determined upon a terrible satisfaction. While serving yourself you've been doing some service to me!"

"May be," suggested the old pirate, pleased at the turn matters appeared to be taking, "maybe Pierre, ye'd like things to go on as they air, an' let me gi'e you more o' the same sort o' satisfackshun? Thar's a way o' doin' it, without any harm to yurself. It's only for you _to keep out o' sight_."

Pierre was again silent, as if reflecting on the answer.

He at length gave it.

"You speak truth, Jerry Rook. There is a way, as you've said; but it must be coupled with a condition."

"What condishun?"

"Your daughter."

"What o' her?"

"I must have her for my wife."

Rook recoiled at the proposal. He was thinking of Alf Brandon and the plantation, the grand estate he had so long coveted, and set his heart upon having.

On the other side were the six hundred dollars a-year. But what was this in comparison? And coupled with a young man for his son-in-law, who was not even a full-blooded white--poor, perhaps penniless. No doubt he had come back without a dollar in his pocket.

Was this certain? He had been to California, the country of gold. From what could be seen of him in the dim light, he appeared well dressed, and his speech proclaimed him well instructed. He had certainly changed much from the time of his departure. He may not have returned either so fortuneless or friendless.

These conjectures kept Jerry Rook from making any immediate answer.

Taking advantage of his silence, the young man continued--

"I know, Jerry Rook, you will be wanting for your son-in-law some one with means; at least, enough to support your daughter in a decent position in society. I am fortunate enough to have this, obtained by hard toil, in the gold _placers_ of California. If you wish satisfaction on this head, I can refer to the Pacific Banking Company of San Francisco, where, three years ago, I deposited my three year's gatherings--in all, I believe, about fifty thousand dollars."

"Fifty thousand dollars! D'ye mean that, Pierre Robideau?"

"I mean it. If I had a light here, I could show you the proof of the deposit."

"Come into the house, Pierre. I don't mean for a light. Ye'll stay all night? Thar's a spare bed; and Lena'll see to your heving some supper. Come along in."

The lucky gold-seeker made no opposition to the proffered hospitality; and in five minutes after he was seated by the fireside of the man who, but five minutes before, had been chafing at having lost the opportunity of spilling his blood!

STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

ANOTHER EAVESDROPPER.

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.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE STRANGER GUEST.

The fifth instalment of "hush-money," that had been paid to Jerry Rook, proved to be the last.

On meeting the contracting parties, and applying for the sixth, he found to his great surprise, as well as chagrin, that the grand secret was gone out of his keeping, and his power over them at an end!

They were not only prepared to repudiate, but talked of his refunding, and even threatened to lynch him upon the spot.

So far from making his claim, he was but too glad to get out of their company.