There need be nothing to fear now surely not; if Dick Tarleton would but discharge the debt.
Ah! to suppose this would be to make the grandest of mistakes. The brain of Jerry Rook was at that moment busy revolving more schemes than one. But there was one, grand as it was, dire and deadly.
Let our next chapter reveal it.
Story 1-Chapter XII. A Traitors Epistle
For some time he remains there, motionless as the trunk beside him.
The exclamation of chagrin that escaped him, as the other passed beyond earshot, is followed by words of a more definite shape and meaning. It was Dick Tarleton who drew from him the former. It is to him the latter are addressed, though without the intention of their being heard.
Ye durned fool! yed speil my plan, wud ye? An I spose all the same if I war to tell ye ot? But I aint gwine to do that, nor to hev it speiled neyther by sich a obsnate eedyut as you. Six hundred dollars pre annul air too much o a good pull to be let go agin slack as that. An doggoned if I do let it go, cost what it may to keep holt ot. Yes, cost what it may !
The phrase repeated with increased emphasis, along with a sudden change in the attitude of the speaker, shows some sinister determination.
Dick, he continued, forsaking the apostrophic form, air a fool in this bizness; a dod-rotted, pursumptuous saphead. He git satisfakshun out o that lot, eyther by the law or otherways! Theyd swing him up as soon as seed; an hed be seed afore he ked harm ere a one o them. Then tha dont go beout ithout toatin thar knives and pistols long wi them, any moren he. An theyll be jest as riddy to use em. Eft kim to thet, what then? In coorse the hole thing ud leak out, an whard this chile be beout his six hundred dollars? Durn Dick Tarleton! Jest for the sake o a silly revenge hed be a speiln all, leavin me as Ive been all my life, poor as hes turkey gobbler.
It must be preevented, it must!
How air the thing to be done? Les see.
Thars one way I knows o, that appear to be eezy enuf.
Dick has goed to the town, ans boun to kum back agin from the town. Thats no reeson why he shed kum back hyar. Thars nobody to miss him! The gurl wont know he aint gone for good. Hes boun to kum back afore mornin, an afore thars sunlight showin among the trees. Hell be sartin to kum along the trace, knowing thars not much danger o meetin anybody, or bein reconised in the dark.
Why shednt I meet him?
With this interrogatory, a fiendish expression, though unseen by human eye, passes over the face of the old hunter. A fiendish thought has sprung up in his heart.
Why shednt I? he pursues, reiterating the reflection. What air Dick Tarleton to me? I haint no particklar spite agin him, thet is ef hell do what Ive devised him to do. But ef he wont, ef he wont
An he wont. Hes sed so, hes swore it.
What, then! Am I to lose six hundred dollars pre-annum, jess for the satisfakshun o his spite? Durned ef I do, cost what it may.
The thingd be as eezy es tumbling off o a log. A half-an-hours squatting among the bushes beside that ere gleed, the pull in o a trigger, an it air done. That mout be a leetle bit o haulin an hidin, but I kin eezy do the fust, and the Crik ll do the last. I know a pool close by, thets just the very place for sech a kinceelmint.
Whod iver sispect? Thars nobody to know; neery soul but myself, an I reckn that ere secret ud be safe enuf in this coons keepin.
For some time the old hunter stands silent, as if further reflecting on the dark scheme, and calculating the chances of success or discovery.
All at once an exclamation escapes him that betokens a change of mind. Not that he has repented of his hellish design, only that some other plan promises better for its execution.
Jerry Rook, Jerry Rook! he mutters in apostrophe to himself, what the stewpid hae ye been thinking o. Yeve never yit spilt hewmin blood, an mustnt begin thet game now. It mout lie like a log upon yur soul, and besides, its jest possible that somebody mout get to hear ot. The crack o a rifle air a sespishous soun at any time, but more espeeshully i the dead o night, if thar should chance to be the howl of a wounded man comin arter it. Sposin he, that air Dick, warnt shot dead at fust go. Durned ef Id like to foller it up; neery bit ot. As things stan thar need be no sech chances, eyther o fearin or failin. A word to Planter Brandon ll be as good as six shots out o the surest rifle. Its only to let him know Dick Tarletons hyar, an a direckshun beouts whar he kin be foun. Hell soon summons the other to sist him in thet same bizness they left unfinished, now, God knows how miny yeer ago. Theyll make short work wi him. No danger ov thar givin him time to palaver beout thet or anythin else, I reckin; an no danger to me . A hintll be enuf, ithout my appearin among em. The very plan, by the Etarnal!
Hows best for the hint ter be konvayed to em? Ha! I kin rite. Fortnit I got skoolin enuf for thet. Ill write to Planter Brandon. The gurl kin take it over to the plantation. She neednt be knowd eyther. She kin rop up in hur cloke, and gie it ter sum o the niggers, asll sure ter be beout the place outside. Thars no need for a answer. I know what Brandonll do arter gittin it.