“Dar she!” the negroes howled.
Gaitskill rode slowly forward, holding out his hand in a gesture of friendliness about as one would approach to catch a horse. But Diada moved slowly backward, keeping in the cleared space, always just one leap distant from the jungle.
Twice they circled the clearing in this ridiculous fashion, Gaitskill repeating in most wheedling and coaxing tones every expression of fondness and endearment with which he was acquainted.
“Dat chin-music ain’t gittin’ Marse Tom nothin’,” Vinegar Atts declared, watching the elusive Diada. “Me ’n’ Hitch’s done tried dat!”
Finally Gaitskill abandoned that plan, and quietly loosened his rope and got ready to throw.
Riding back a few feet he gave the rope a quick swing, and the noose settled prettily around the arms of the giant woman just above her elbows. There was not a trace of fear in her face, and she moved slowly backward until the rope was taut. To the interested negroes it looked like the simple, peaceable game of “playing horse.”
Then Gaitskill spurred his horse to one side and gave the rope a sharp jerk. Instantly a long-bladed butcher-knife flashed in Diada’s hand, and the severed rope trailed loosely upon the ground, while the now harmless noose slipped down over her hands and was lightly tossed aside.
“Dar now!” Hitch Diamond exclaimed in tragic tones. “Dat fish is done unbit an’ div!”
Gaitskill slowly drew in the rope and was busy making another noose, when there was a warning shout from the negroes.
Diada was coming across the clearing toward Gaitskill, leaping like a deer. There was no trace of anger in her manner, and no sign of danger except the long-bladed knife in her powerful hand.