“Final he couldn’t stand the silence no more. ‘Si,’ he cried, ‘Si, won’t ye talk to me!’
“They wasn’t no answer. He only heard a heavy breathin’ in the pack.
“The moon come up an’ lighted the road an’ the dogs begin to bay at it. That might ’a’ cheered him up some had he ’a’ heard ’em, but he didn’t hear nawthin’ now. Tom Buttonporgie was dazed like. He kept on a-walkin’ an’ a-walkin’, but the straps no longer cut his shoulders an’ he forgot the load on his back. The road with the moonlight pourin’ over it seemed like a broad white pavement crosst the walley, smooz ez marble. They was no chuckholes now to stumble in, no thank-ye-ma’ams to jump over, no ruts to twist his ankles. It was all smooz—smooz ez marble it was. On he went, faster an’ faster. He wanted to git to the eend o’ the white road now an’ lay down his pack an’ sleep. He was walkin’ mechanical.
“All o’ a sudden a queer sound woke him from his doze an’ he stopped short. It all come back agin. He was in the road an’ the road was rough, an’ the straps was cuttin’ dreadful, an’ his legs felt like they was givin’ way under him. The pack was on his back an’ awful heavy too. He reached up his hand an’ felt it. But a queer sound was comin’ from it—most a mighty queer. Tom didn’t dast breathe. He stood still listenin’. Then it come louder—a soft purrin’, gentle ez a cat’s. An’ the peddler laughed. Natur’ hed tackled Si Berrybush an’ walloped him. He was snorin’.
“There was an oneasy movement in the pack. Tom’s heart fell. He stepped on wery cautious. Now agin come the sound, louder an’ louder.
“The road took a sudden turn ’round a thick clump o’ woods an’ crossed a stream on a rickety timber bridge. There Buttonporgie stopped. An’ ez he leaned agin the rail an’ looked down into the water there below him, gleamin’ along in the moonlight, everything kind o’ passed away from his mind. He only knowd that he was wery hot, an’ the pool looked so cool an’ inwitin’. He only knowd that he was wery tired, an’ the pool looked so soft an’ nice, ez ef it was jest intended for limbs achin’ like ez his. He’d miles yit to go afore he reached the hills. Si was sleepin’. Si wouldn’t mind. Si wouldn’t know. They’d be movin’ agin afore Si woke up. So he climbed over the rail an’ stepped off. The wotter closed over his head an’ he went down an’ down, the great weight on his back draggin’ him. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He was jest goin’ to lay there in the cool stream an’ look up at the stars an’ rest. His feet struck the bottom an’ he tore his arms free o’ the straps that held the awful weight to him. In a second he was on the surface an’ swimmin’, fer he was wide awake.
“He used to say that ez he stood there on the bank lookin’ at that quiet pool it seemed ez tho’ it was all a dream; that he’d never met the murderer an’ carried him thirty mile on his back, or felt the prod of his pistol every time his steps lagged. But ef it was a dream, he thot, then what was that he seen that rose to the surface an’ went bobbin’ away on the current? It was Si Berrybush’s ole cloth cap.”