“Where? Where?” the others demanded, and Josh, nothing loath to tell the dramatic incident and emboldened by the crowd and broad daylight, when hants were powerless, told again the tale of the man with the sad, tired face who was always trying to get away from the ringing and roaring in his head; how he had drifted into Greendale and bought the land with the cabin on it from old Dean and taken his little girl up there where they had lived about two years; and then how one night he had not come home, and Gwen had come to their cabin early in the morning to ask them to hunt her father, and after long search they had found him down in the Devil’s Gorge—dead.
“Dead’s a door nail and Gwen left ’thout so much as a sho ’nuf name, ’cause the Englishman allus called hisself Brown, but the books what Gwen fetched to we allses’ house is got another name writ in ’em, an’ my maw, she says that Gwen’s jes’ as likely to be named one as tother. My maw says that she don’t hold to the notion that the Englishman took his own life, but that was what the coroner said—susanside—an’ accordin’ to law we uns is bleeged to accept his verdict.”
“I agree with your mother,” said Dr. Wright. “It is more apt to have been vertigo that toppled the poor man over. That ringing in the head is so often accompanied with vertigo.”
They carried the provisions around the mountain, out of sight of the gruesome spot, and under a mighty oak tree ate their very good luncheon.
CHAPTER XVII.
FIRST AID.
“It is strange we haven’t seen a single snake,” said one of the visiting girls.
“Thank goodness for it!” exclaimed another. “I was almost afraid to come camping because of snakes.”
“We haven’t seen any around the camp at all,” Douglas assured them.