“But what kept Pierre among ’em?”
“They were trying who could hang longest to the branch of a tree. As Pierre was coming past, Alf Brandon stopped him, and challenged him to try too; then offered to make a bet—their rifles, I think—and Pierre consented, and I came away.”
“Pierre should have kum along wi’ ye, an’ left them to theirselves. I know Alf Brandon don’t owe the boy any goodwill, nor Bill Buck neyther, nor any o’ that hul lot. I reckon they must a riled him, and rousted his speerit a bit.”
As the old hunter said this, he stepped over the threshold of the door, and stood outside, as if looking out for the coming of Dick Tarleton’s son.
Seeing that he was listening, the other two, to avoid making a noise, conversed in a low tone.
“I kin hear the houn’s,” remarked Rook, speaking back into the cabin. “Thar’s a growl! Durn me, ef they hain’t started suthin’. Thar they go, an’ the curs yellin’ arter ’em as ef hell war let loose. Wonder what it kin mean? Some varmint must a crawled right inter thar camp. Wal, Pierre ain’t like to a gone along wi’ ’em, seein’ as he’s got no hoss. I reck’n we’ll soon see him hyar, an’ maybe Alf Brandon’s rifle along wi’ him. Ef it’s bin who kin hang longest to the branch of a tree, I’d back him agin the toughest-tailed possum in all these parts. Ef that be the tarms o’ the wager, he’ll git the gun.”
The old hunter returned chuckling into the cabin.
Some conversation passed between him and his daughter, about getting dinner for their guest; and then, thinking that the expected Pierre was a long time in showing himself, he went out again, and stood listening as before.
He had not been many moments in this attitude, when he was seen to start, and then listen more eagerly with an uneasy look.
Tarleton, looking from the inside, saw this, and so too the girl.