“It’s a terrible ugly affair. We’re very sorry.”
“No doubt ye air, an’ ye’d be a precious sight sorrier of the young fellar had any kinfolk to look arter it, and call ye to account. As it be, there ain’t nobody but me—and he warn’t no kin o’ mine—only a stayin’ wi’ me, that may make it easier for you.”
“But, what have you done with—the—the body?”
Brandon asks the question hesitatingly, and thinking of Rook’s daughter.
“The body? Wal, I’ve carried it to the shanty, an’ put it out o’ sight. I didn’t want the hul country to be on fire till I’d fust seed ye. As yet, thar ain’t nobody the wiser.”
“And—”
“An’ what?”
“Your daughter.”
“Oh! my darter don’t count. She air a ’bedient gurl, and ain’t gwine to blabbin’ while I put the stopper on her tongue. Don’t ye be skeeart ’beout thet.”
“Jerry Rook!” says Brandon, recovering confidence from the old hunter’s hints, “it’s no use being basket-faced over this business. We’ve got into a scrape, and and we know it. You know it, too. We had no intention to commit a crime; it was all a lark; but since it’s turned out ugly, we must make the best we can of it. You’re the only one who can make it disagreeable for us, and you won’t. I know you won’t. We’re willing to behave handsomely if you act otherwise. You can say this young fellow has gone away—down to Orleans, or anywhere else. I’ve heard you once say he was not to be with you much longer. That will explain to your neighbours why he is missing. To be plain, then, what is the price of such an explanation?”