“Yes, the second one escaped, but with a bullet in his neck. They tracked him a mile or two by his blood.”
“Dreadful!” muttered Mr. Blister. “So Fobb is wounded! I will just ride back and inform Miss Scragg of the fact. She will go into hysterics, and I shall get a job.” And so saying, the apothecary mounted his horse, and followed in Rattle’s track.
“What have you done with the killed, Mr. Buzz?”
“Oh, we have skinned him, and hung him up to dry, to be sure. One of the gents would have a slice of him for dinner, but he found it rather tough eating I suspect; not quite equal to the ducks.”
“What!” exclaimed Fuzz, turning pale and starting back with horror. “Are they cannibals?”
“Yes, to be sure,” responded Buzz, who did not fully comprehend the question.
“Gentlemen, we must pursue the guilty fugitives,” said the squire. “What direction did they take, landlord? No equivocation, sir. The law will bear us out in adopting the most rigorous measures. Where are they?”
“Bless me, they are cosily seated at dinner in my little back parlor. I wouldn’t interrupt them now. It may make them mad.”
“Landlord! Lead us to them at once—at once, I say,” exclaimed Fuzz, turning very red about the gills.
“Well, squire, don’t talk so loud. I will show you the way, but mind that I say I shouldn’t wonder if they resented it.”