BELL: How should I know?

You should ken best who's after you, and what You're wanted for? They might be friends of yours, For all I ken: though I've never taken, myself, To the little boy-blues. But, carties, I'd have fancied 'Twould make your lugs burn--such a gillaber about you.

They talked.

JIM: Who talked?

BELL: Your friends.

JIM: Friends? I've no friends.

BELL: Well: they were none of mine. Last night I slept 'Neath Winter's Stob ...

JIM: What's that to do with me?

BELL: I slept till midnight, when a clank of chains Awakened me: and, looking up, I saw A body on the gibbet ...

JIM: A body, woman?

No man's hung there this hundred-year.

BELL: I saw A tattered corpse against the hagging moon, Above me black.

JIM: You didn't see the face?

BELL: I saw its face--before it disappeared, And left the gibbet bare.

JIM: You kenned the face?

BELL: I kenned the face.

JIM: Whose face? ...

BELL: Best not to ask.

JIM: O Christ!

BELL: But we were talking of your friends: Quite anxious about you, they seemed.

JIM (_limping towards BELL HAGGARD with lifted arm_): You cadger-quean!

You've set them on. I'll crack you over the cruntle-- You rummel-dusty ... You muckhut ... You windyhash!

I'll slit your weazen for you: I'll break your jaw-- I'll stop your gob, if I've to do you in!

You'll not sleep under Winter's Stob to-night.

BELL (_regarding him, unmoved_): As well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb?

JIM (_stopping short_): Hanged?

BELL: To be hanged by the neck till you are dead.

That bleaches you? But you'll look whiter yet, When you lie cold and stiffening, my pretty bleater.

JIM (_shrinking back_): You witch ... You witch! You've got the evil eye.

Don't look at me like that ... Come, let me go!

BELL: A witch? Ay, wise men always carry witch-bane When they've to do with women. Witch, say you?

Eh, lad, but you've been walking widdershins: You'd best turn deazil, crook your thumbs, my callant, And gather cowgra.s.s, if you'd break the spell, And send the old witch skiting on her broomstick.

They said that you'd make tracks for Krindlesyke: And they'd cop you here, for certain--dig you out Like a badger from his earth. I left them talking.

JIM: Where, you h.e.l.l-hag?

BELL: Ah, where? You'd like to learn?

It's well to keep a civil tongue with witches, If you've no sliver of rowan in your pocket: Though it won't need any witch, my jackadandy, To clap the clicking jimmies round your wrists.

To think I fashed myself to give you warning: And this is all the thanks I get! Well, well-- They'll soon be here. As I came up b.l.o.o.d.ysyke ...

JIM: Up b.l.o.o.d.ysyke: and they were following?

I'd best cut over Gallows Rigg. My G.o.d, The hunt's afoot ... But it may be a trap-- And you ... And you ...

BELL: Nay: but I'm no ratcatcher.

You'd best turn tail, before the terriers sight you.

(_As JIM bolts past her and through the open door_)

Rats! Rats! Good dog! ... And now we're rid of vermin.

JUDITH: Oh, Bell, what has he done? What has he done?

BELL: How should I ken?

JUDITH: And yet you said ...

BELL: I said?

You've surely not forgotten Bell Haggard's tongue, After the taste you had of it the last time?

JUDITH: What did you hear?

BELL: A drunken blether-breeks In a bar at Bellingham: and I recognized Peter's own brother, too; and guessed 'twas Jim: And when they gossiped of Krindlesyke ... Oh, I ken Ladies don't listen: but not being a lady Whiles has advantages: and when he left His crony sprawling, splurging in the gutter, I followed him, full-pelt, hot on his heel, Guessing the hanniel was up to little good.

But he got here before me: so I waited Outside, until I heard him bl.u.s.tering; And judged it time to choke his cracking-croose.

I couldn't have that wastrel making mischief In Michael's house: I didn't quit Krindlesyke That it might be turned into a tinker's dosshouse, Hotching with maggots like a reesty gowdy, For any hammy, halfnabs, and hang-gallows To stretch his lousy carcase in at ease, After I'd s.l.u.tted to keep it respectable For fifteen-year.

JUDITH: But what do you think he's done-- Not murder?

BELL: Murder? Nay: it takes a man To murder.

JUDITH: Ay ... But when you spoke of hanging, He turned like death: and when he threatened you, I saw blue-murder in his eyes.

BELL: At most, 'Twould be manslaughter with the likes of him.

I've some respect for murderers: they, at least, Take things into their own hands, and don't wait On lucky chances, like the rest of us-- Murderers and suicides ...

JUDITH: But Jim?

BELL: I'd back Cain against Abel, ay, and hairy Esau Against that smooth sneak Jacob. Jim? He's likely Done in some doxy in a drunken sleep: 'Twould be about his measure.