Jesse looked at the doomed man with his toad’s eyes.
“I fraid de secret no good whar you gwaine, massa. You dead gem’man, sar. Nuffing on God earf save you now. Five minutes more and we take off your tings and put you under Jesse’s snake-gourd, sar.”
“What the deuce is he talking about?” began Vivian. Then his jaw fell and he stared at the face of Jabez Ford. Behind them stood Jacky, and in front, on the other side of the table, the Obi Man quietly sipped his rum punch and waited.
But now a thing unforeseen occurred, and the awful, inevitable death that had been mixed with Henry Vivian’s cup fell upon another.
Jabez Ford it was who leapt to his feet, cried a hoarse oath and turned upon the negro behind him.
“Treachery—you—you—!” he began. Then he fell in a heap on the floor, twisted horribly like a snake, while his hands and feet beat the earth.
“Air—air—my God—life!” he cried, and at the same moment with a wild yell the Obi Man leapt forward and hurled himself at his son’s throat. But the younger negro was ready, and in his grasp the old man’s strength availed nothing. In a moment Mr Hagan was forced to the earth and Jacky, with a rope in readiness, had bound him hand and foot. His finery fell from Jesse while he shrieked and struggled and cursed. Then he sank into silence and watched Jabez Ford die.
Vivian, believing himself in some appalling nightmare, glared upon this scene; and its unreality and horror seemed increased to a climax worse than the sudden death of the overseer when the dumb negro turned upon him and spoke.
“Come!” said the man. “Come out of this! The horses are waiting. I’ll tell you what’s to tell, but not here with that mad old devil screeching in our ears and t’other glaring there with death gripping his throat. Come, Henry Vivian, an’ give heed to the man who has saved your life at the cost of this twisted clay here. Like him would you have been this minute but for me. ’Tis now your turn to be merciful.”
“Dan! Dan Sweetland!”