And they glance too at something upon the trees. There is a broad black skin suspended over a branch; but there is more upon another branch there is a man !
But for the motions lately made by him the birds would ere this have descended to their banquet.
They may come down now. He makes no more motions, utters no cry to keep them in the air affrighted. He hangs still, silent, apparently dead. Even the scream of a young girl rushing out from the underwood does not stir him, nor yet the shout of an old man sent forth under like excitement.
Not any more when they are close to the spot with arms almost touching him arms upraised and voices loud in lamentation.
It is Pierre! Oh, father, they have hanged him! Dead he is dead!
Hush gurl! Maybe not, cries the old man, taking hold of the loose limbs and easing the strain of the rope. Quick! come under here, catch hold as you see me, an bear up wi all your strength. I must git my knife out and spring upard to git at the durned rope. Thets it. Steady, now.
The young girl has glided forward, and, as directed, taken hold of the hanging limbs. It is a terrible task a trying, terrible task even for a backwoods maiden. But she is equal to it; and bending to it with all her strength, she holds up what she believes to be the dead body of her playmate and companion. Her young heart is almost bursting with agony as she feels that in the limbs embraced there is no motion not even a tremor.
Hold on hard, urges her father. Thets a stout gurl. I wont be a minnit.
While giving this admonition, he is hurrying to get hold of his knife.
It is out, and with a spring upward, as if youth had returned to his sinews, the old hunter succeeds in reaching the rope. It is severed with a snig! and the body, bearing the girl along with it, drops to the ground.
The noose is instantly slackened and switched off; the old hunter with both hands embraces the throat, pressing the windpipe back into it; then, placing his ear close to the chest, listens.
With eyes set in agonised suspense, and ears also; Lena listens, too, to hear what her father may say.
Oh! father, do you think he is dead? Tell me he still lives.
Not much sign o it. Heigh! I thort I seed a tremble. You run to the shanty. Thars some corn whisky in the cubberd. Its in the stone bottle. Bring it hyar. Go, gurl, an run as fast as your legs kin carry ye!
The girl springs to her feet, and is about starting off.
Stay, stay! It wont do to let Dick know; thisll drive him mad. Durn me, if I know what ter do. Arter all he may as well be told ont. He must find it out, sooner or later. That must be, an dog-gone it twont do to lose time. Ye may go. No, stay! No, go go! an fetch the bottle; ye neednt tell him what its for. But hell know thars suthin wrong. Hell be sure to know. Hell come back along wi ye. Thats equilly sartin. Well, let him. Maybe thets the best. Yes, fetch him back wi ye. Thars no danger o them chaps showin here arter this, I reckn. Hurry him along but dont forget the bottle. Now, gurl, quick as lightnin, quick!
If not quite so quick as lightning, yet fast as her feet can carry her, the young girl starts along the trace leading to the shanty. She is not thinking of the sad tidings she bears to him who hides in her fathers cabin. Her own sorrow is sufficient for the time, and stifles every other thought in her heart.
The old hunter does not stand
idly watching her. He is busy with the body, doing what he can to restore life. He feels that it is warm. He fancies it is still breathing.
Now, how it came abeout? he asked himself, scanning the corpse for an explanation. Tied one o his hands an not the tother! Thars a puzzle. What can it mean?
They must a meant hangin anyhow, poor young fellar! Theyve dud it sure. For what? What ked he hev done, to hev engered them? Won the rifle for one thing, an thet theyve tuk away.
The hul thing hez been a trick; a durned, infernal, hellniferous trick o some sort.
Maybe they only meant it for a joke. Maybe they only intended scarin him; an jess then that varmint kim along, an sot the houns on to it, an them arter, an they sneaked off thout thinkin o him? Wonder ef that was the way.
Ef it warnt, what ked a purvoked them to this drefful deed? Durn me ef I kin think o a reezun.
Wal, joke or no joke, it hev ended in a tregidy a krewel tregidy. Poor young fellar!
An dog-gone my cats! ef I dont make em pay for it, every mothers chick o em. Yes, Mr Alf Brandon, an you, Master Randall, an you, Bill Buck, an all an every one o ye.
Ya! Ive got a idea; a durned splendifirous idea! By the Etarnal, I kin make a good thing out o this. Well thought o, Jeremiah Rooke; yeve hed a hard life ot lately; but yell be a fool ef ye dont live eezier for the future, a darned greenhorn o a saphead! Oh, oh! ye young bloods an busters! Ill make ye pay for this job in a way ye aint thinkin o, cussed ef I dont.
Whats fust to be done? He musnt lie hyar. Somebody mout kum along, an that ud spoil all. Ef twar only meent as a joke they mout kum to see the end ot. I heerd shots. That must a been the finish o the anymal. Taint likely theyll kum back, but they may; an ef so, they musnt see this. Ill tell them I carried the corp away and berried it. They wont care to inquire too close beout it.