“Naw, sir! naw, sir! he hed on no sech coat ez that, ennyhow,” protested Knowles. Then, with rising anger, “Ye air a pore shoat fur sense, Owen Haines! Ef they air his gyarmints, what’s the reason he hid ’em so secret an’ whar the quicklime would deestroy ’em; bein’ so partic’lar ter ax o’ me ef ’twould burn boots an’ clothes an’ bone,—bone, too?”
“I dunno,” said Haines, at a loss, and turning the black-and-red blazer vaguely in his hands.
“I do; them folks over ter New Helveshy wears sech fool gear ez these,” Knowles insisted, from his superior knowledge, for in the interest of his lime-trade he had visited New Helvetia more than once,—a rare trip for a denizen of Etowah Cove.
“Thar ain’t nobody missin’ at New Helveshy!” Haines argued, against his lingering hope.
“How do you-uns know?” exclaimed Knowles hurriedly, and with a certain alert alarm in his face. “Somebody comin’ ez never got thar! Somebody goin’ ez never got away!” He had risen excitedly to his feet. What ghastly secret might be hidden beneath the residue of quicklime in that dark cavern, the responsibility possibly to be laid at his door!
Owen Haines, looking up at him with childlike eyes, was slowly studying his face,—a fierce face, with the savagery of his cowardice as predatory an element as the wantonness of his malice.
“These hyar air his clothes,” Haines reiterated; “I ’members ’em well. This hyar split buttonhole at the throat”—
“That’s whar he clutched the murdered one,” declared Knowles tumultuously.
—“an’ these water-marks on these hyar shoes,—they hed been soaked,—an’ this hyar leather belt, whar two p’ints hed been teched through with a knife-blade, stiddier them round holes, ter draw the belt up tighter ’n it war made ter be wore,—I could swar ter ’em,—an’ this hyar”—
Knowles looked down at him in angry doubt. “Shucks,” he interrupted, “ye besotted idjit! I dunno what ailed me ter kem ter you-uns. I ’lowed ye war so beset ter do—yer—Marster’s—work!” with a mocking whine. “But ye ain’t. Ye seek yer own chance! The Lord tied yer tongue with a purpose, an’ he wasted no brains on a critter ez he didn’t ’low ter hev gabblin’ round the throne. Ye see ter it ye say nuthin’ bout’n this, else jestice’ll take arter you-uns, too, an’ ye won’t be much abler ter talk ter the court o’ law ’n the court o’ the Lawd.” He wagged his head vehemently at the young man, while kneeling to make up anew the bundle of garments, until the scorching vapor compelled him to turn aside. When he arose, he stood erect for one doubtful instant. Then, satisfied by the reflection that for the sake of his own antagonism toward the juggler the jealous and discarded lover would do naught to frustrate the vengeance that menaced Royce, he turned suddenly, and, with the bundle swaying as before on the end of the stick, started without a word along the path by which he had come, leaving Owen Haines gazing after him till he disappeared amongst the leaves.