They all exchanged superstitious glances, and Bones said hoarsely——
"He were close to bein' more'n human, weren't he?"
"They do say as how ye can chain down a ha'nt by drivin' a stake through the body," suggested Black Dog—and he shook so that his torch scattered sparks.
"Ye couldn't pin Murray down that way if he was of a mind to ha'nt ye," answered Silver. "Not that I believe in ha'nts myself."
"It's bad luck to mutilate the dead," objected Flint. "No, no, we'll bury him quick and be done with it."
"But 'ee promised I was t' beat mun," sobbed Tom Morphew. "I let 'ee in, Long John, and 'ee promised!"
"How was I to know he'd be dead?" returned Silver. "Don't ye take on so, Tom. We'll give ye a double handful o' onzas for what ye done, and when your back's well ye'll ha' a rare spree wi' the yellow boys, eh?"
But Morphew refused to be comforted. He limped from the hut, trailing his whip behind him.
"'Tisn't goold I want," he wept. "'Tis to lay my lash to t' back o' mun. Aye! Till he do be bloody raw, same as Job Pytchens and they other lads as is under sod. Oh, my pore back!"
There was an interval of silence after he was gone.