Phelim went to sleep upon his shake-down; while the other sate up to keep watch by the bedside of the sufferer.
It was not from any unfaithfulness on the part of the foster-brother, that he seemed thus to disregard his duty; but simply because Zeb had requested him to lie down—telling him there was no occasion for both to remain awake.
The old hunter had his reasons. He did not desire that those wild words should be heard even by Phelim. Better he should listen to them alone.
And alone he sate listening to them—throughout the live-long night.
He heard speeches that surprised him, and names that did not. He was not surprised to hear the name “Louise” often repeated, and coupled with fervent protestations of love.
But there was another name also often pronounced—with speeches less pleasant to his ear.
It was the name of Louise’s brother.
The speeches were disjointed—incongruous, and almost unintelligible.
Comparing one with the other, however, and assisted by the circumstances already known to him, before the morning light had entered the jacalé, Zeb Stump had come to the conclusion: that Henry Poindexter was no longer a living man!