"Who can have carried it off?" she exclaimed, aghast.
"I rather think he has carried himself off," said Louis, who had been attentively examining the ground.
"Oh, impossible! He was dead, I tell you—just as dead as ever he could be," said Gipsy.
"Well, dead or not, he has made his escape," said Louis. "See, the grass is dyed with blood all along, showing the way he has gone. Come, the trail is plain enough, let us follow it."
All dismounted and followed Louis. Not far had they to go, for lying by the fire was the burly form of the negro. He had evidently, with much difficulty, dragged himself thus far, and then sank down exhausted.
He rolled his glaring eyes fiercely on the faces bending over him, and gnashed his teeth in impotent rage as he saw Gipsy.
"Thank God! I have not killed him!" was her first fervent ejaculation. Then, while Louis and the servants began making a sort of litter, she knelt beside him, and strove to stanch the flowing blood, undeterred by the wild, ferocious glare of his fiery eyes.
"Now, Tom, look here," said Gipsy, as she composedly went on with her work, "there's no use in your looking daggers at me that way, because it don't alarm me a bit. You needn't be mad at me either, for though I fired on you first, it was to save the life of an old woman, who might have been a loss to the world; and if I made use of your knife afterward, it was to save the life of Mrs. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman, who would have been a greater loss still. So you see I couldn't help myself, and you may as well look at the matter in the same light."
By this time the rest came back with a sort of litter; and groaning and writhing with pain, the heavy form of the wounded giant was lifted on their shoulders, and borne toward the village, where it was consigned to the care of the sheriff, who was thunderstruck when he heard of Gipsy's daring.
On their return to Sunset Hall, they learned from the old woman, who seemed threatened with a severe illness, how it had all occurred.