And Huldah broke into loud hysteric weeping, on the tide of which “Creed—Pap Spiller—Blatch Turrentine” were cast up now and again.
“Hush, cain’t ye?” demanded Jephthah, angrily; “I cain’t hear one word they answer me down thar. Hello, boys. Is he livin’?”
Andy had evidently reached the searchers at the foot of the cliff. Loud, confused voices came up to those above. Finally,
“W’y, Pap, we ain’t never found him,” Jeff called.
“Ye what?” demanded the father incredulously.
“We ain’t—never—found him,” reiterated Jeff doggedly.
The old man drew back sharply with a look of swift anger in his face.
“Well, ef ye hain’t found him by now ye better quit lookin’, hadn’t ye?” he suggested as he straightened to his full height and turned his back.
“Creed Bonbright’s jest about been here an’ hid the body, that’s what he’s done,” Taylor Stribling clamoured after him in futile explanation. But the old man gave no heed. Lantern in hand, he was already addressing himself to a careful examination of the scene of the struggle. The torn vines where Creed had fallen through the fissure instantly caught his eye.
“Come up here, you-all!” he turned and shouted toward the gulf. He swung his lantern far out over the crevice. “Look at that,” he said quietly. “Thar’s whar yo’ man got away from ye.” He handed the lantern to Wade, and swung himself lightly down where Creed had fallen.