The spell that was on the big hunter was only momentary, and it was but a minute or two before he was himself again; and he signified his willingness to resume the conversation by saying, as he reseated himself on the stool at the side of the couch of skins on which Darke reclined:
“Well, I heerd Elder Fugwoller say onc’t—and he was college l’arnt—‘It’s a long tow-path, or cow-path, or suthin’, as hasn’t got no turns into ’em;’ and I believe it’s true as gospil.”
The dwarf turned and walked across the cavern, and, pushing aside the dividing curtain, disappeared within the inner apartment, replacing the death record in his bosom as he did so.
“The day of retribution is sure to come at last. It is not often that the guilty escape punishment,” said Darke. “It is sure to overtake them sooner or later. God’s justice is certain!”
“I’m a-thinkin’,” returned Leander Maybob, “as how Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s tow path or cow-path’ll take a mighty unexpected turn some day!”
“Ku-nan-gu-no-nah!”
The big hunter seemed surprised at Darke’s sudden exclamation.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s the devil’s name. Do you know him? Have you got an account ag’in’ him?”
“Yes,” cried Darke, sitting bolt upright on the couch, while a hard, stern look settled on his face. “Yes; I believe I have. And I am going to present it for settlement the very first time I see him!”
“What do you mean?” the other asked, evincing no small degree of interest in the words and actions of Darke. “Has he ever—”