“Durnation!” he repeated, stamping on the ground, and glancing angrily around him. “I’d most forgotten it! Whar kin the gurl hev gone?
“Ain’t in her bed; nor ain’t a been this night! Ain’t in the house neyther! Whar kin she be?”
“I thort I mout a foun’ her hyar; but this hain’t hed nuthin’ ter do wi’ her. It kedn’t a’ hed.
“Durn me, ef I don’t b’lieve she’s goed out to meet some un’; an’, maybe, that same fellar as shot the snake! Who the red thunder kin he be? By the Eturnal, ef’t be so, I’ll put a eend to his snake shooting!
“Whar kin the gurl be? I shall look all night, or I’ll find her. She ain’t in the orchart, or I’d a seed her comin’ through. An’ shurly she ain’t goed across the crik? Maybe she’s strayed up behint the stable or the corn-cribs? I’ll try thar.”
The hearts of the lovers, so long held in a suspense, almost agonising, began to beat more tranquilly as they saw him pass away from the spot.
It was but a short respite, lasting only the time occupied by Jerry Rook in taking ten steps.
A hound, beating about the field, had strayed up to the tree and poked his snout into the cavity where they stood concealed.
A short, sharp yelp, followed by a growl, proclaimed the presence of something that ought not to be there.
“Yoicks! good dog!” cried the ci-devant hunter, quick harking to the cry. “What you got thar?”