Still no response.
“An’ so, Mr Bill Buck, you think thet Jerry Rook hez been a humbuggin’ ye?”
“I do,” replied Buck, doggedly.
“And so do I.”
“Yes; so all of us.”
“Oh! ye’re agreed beout thet, air ye? Wal, ye ain’t a gwine to humbug me as ye’ve been jest now a tryin’. I warn’t sech a precious fool as to put the poor young fellur’s karkiss whar you could kum and scrape it up agin whenever you’d a mind. Ne’er a bit o’t. I’ve got it safer stowed than that, an’ I’ll take care o’t too, till ye refuse to keep to your contract. When any o’ ye do that I’ll then do a bit o’ dissenterry myself, you see ef I don’t.”
The discomfited excavators had once more relapsed into silence. Having nothing to say by which they could justify themselves, they made no attempt. It was no use to deny either what they had been doing, or its design. Jerry Rook saw the one, and guessed the other.
“Ye ’pear very silent beout it,” he continued, jeeringly. “Wal, ef you’ve got nothing to say, I reckin you’d better all go hum to yur beds an’ sleep the thing over. Preehaps some o’ ye may dream whar the body air laid. Ha—ha—ha!”
They were not all silent, though their speech was not addressed to him. There was whispering among themselves, in which Bill Buck and Slaughter took the principal part; and had there been lights enough for Jerry Rook to see the faces of these two men, and the demoniac fire in their eyes, as they glanced at him, and then towards the spades, he might have changed his hilarious tune, and, perhaps, made hasty retreat into the house.
There was a suggestion that the half-dug grave should be deepened, and a body put into it—the body of Jerry Rook! It came from Slaughter, and was backed by Bill Buck. But the others were not plucky enough for such an extreme measure; and the old squatter was spared. Perhaps his rifle had something to do with the decision. They saw that he had it with him, and, although Jerry Rook was a sexagenarian, they knew him to be a sure and deadly shot. He would not be conquered without a struggle.