Bob's first care was to look after Seizer, who was badly wounded, but whose bones were whole. The afternoon had pa.s.sed its middle when he shot the bear, and by the time he had cared for the dog and dressed his game the sun was low and McCord was troubled lest he should have delayed too long the execution of his stratagem for the confusion of Jake Hogan.

Another man might have been considerably embarra.s.sed to dispose of the bear. But Bob proceeded first to divest it of every part that was of little value. Then he hoisted the carca.s.s to his shoulder and tossed the bear-skin on top. Taking up his rifle and balancing his burden carefully before starting, he went swaying to and fro down the ravine, choosing with care the securest places among the rocks to set his feet in. It was thus that Samson went off with the great gates of Gaza. McCord was a primitive, Pelasgic sort of man, accustomed to overmatch the ferocities of Nature with a superior strength and cunning. Lacking the refinement and complexity of the typical modern, this antique human is more simple and statuesque; even the craft of such a man has little involution.

There was joy in his b.l.o.o.d.y victory over the most formidable beast in his reach that was virile and unalloyed by ruth or scruple--a joy like that which vibrates in the verses of Homer.

It was a good mile to Lazar Brown's, where Bob hoped to find a horse to take his bear home. When at length he stopped to unshoulder his burden on a salient corner of old Lazar's rail fence, sunset had begun to bless the overheated earth.

"Got a b'ar, did n' choo?" said Old Lazar, who was in wait for Bob.

"To be sh.o.r.e, Uncle Lazar. Whadje expeck?"

"Come in, Bob, wonch yeh? I got a fresh jug full uv the critter yisterday, un I 'low you're purty consid'able dry agin this time. You purty much all-ays air dry, Bob."

"Well, Uncle Lazar, I _am_ tol'able dry un _no_ mistake. I hain't had nuthin' to drink to-day 'ceppin' jes branch water, un clear water's a mighty weak kind uv a drink fer a pore stomick like mine. 'N, I'm hungry too. Don' choo 'low S'manthy could rake up a cole dodger summers about?"

"Oh, stay tell she gits you some supper."

"No, Uncle Lazar; I could n' stop a minute noways. They hain't got nary thing t' eat 't our house. Len' me your mare to git this 'ere varmint home?"

"I could n', Bob. I'm thes uz willin' to 'commodate ez anybody kin be, but I've promised the mar' to one uv the boys to-night--to--to go a-sparkin' weth."

"Oh, sparkin' kin wait. What's a feller want to go sparkin' a Friday night fer? Tell him to wait tell Sunday, so 's the gal 'll have a clean dress on."

"But I've gi'n my word, Bob."

"Your word hain't no 'count, un you don't fool me, Uncle Lazar," said Bob, with a broad grin. "Your mare's a-goin' to town to-night, un ef she sh'd git a bullet-hole put into her who'd pay the funeral ixpenses?"

This consideration went for a good deal with Lazar.

"I say, Bob," he said, coming closer and speaking low, "_is_ they goin'

to be shootin' to-night?"

"_Uv_ course they is, un plenty uv it. Don' choo know't the sheriff's gi'n bonds, un 'f 'e lets a prisoner go he's got to pay the damages? Un them town fellers is sot agin lynchin'." Seeing S'manthy in the cabin door straining her attention to the utmost, Bob spoke loud enough to reach her ears. "Lookey h-yer, Uncle Lazar," he went on; "d'you reckon 't that feller that's a-goin' to git your mare shot to-night 'll gin you a whole quarter uv bear-meat fer the use _an'_ the damages ef she's shot?"

This last hint had the desired effect.

"'T ain't no use a-talkin', Daddy," S'manthy called out; "I hain't a-go'n' to let a'ole frien' like Bob Mcord pack that-ar great big b'ar all the way over to Timber Crick on his shoulders ez long 's my name's S'manthy. Un I hain't a-go'n' to have the mar' shot. So thar 's 'n eend auv it." S'manthy's common "uv" or "uh" for "of" became "auv" when she wished to be particularly emphatic and full-mouthed in a declaration.

"Good fer _you_, S'manthy," said Bob. "You sh'll have the best leg this critter's got. Take yer ch'ice."

A rusty ax was brought out, and Bob stopped a moment to examine its serrated edge. "I say, Uncle Lazar, ez this a' ax _ur_ a saw? From the aidge uv it _I_ sh'd call it a saw, but the back uv it _is_ sumpin like a' ax." Then with a laugh he proceeded to cut off a liberal quarter of the bear, while S'manthy's ten-year-old tow-headed boy was sent to "ketch up the mar'," which was nibbling gra.s.s on the farther side of a patch of broad-leaved cotton-weeds. When the quarter of bear-meat had been hung up at the north end of the cabin, Lazar got out his jug and Bob began to satisfy the longings of his colossal thirst, while S'manthy set out on the poplar table which stood in the middle of the floor some "Kaintucky corn-dodger," as she called it; and despite Bob's protest against staying till she could cook some supper, she put a bit of fat salt pork in the skillet to fry. Meantime the old man plied Bob with more whisky, both before and after eating. When he thought it time for this to have taken effect, he began to try to satisfy his own curiosity.

"D'joo h-yer about the carner's eenquest, Bob?" he said cautiously, feeling his way toward his point.

"No, I didn't. You see, I hain't seed n.o.body but the bear, un she wuz the ign'rantest critter. Could n't tell me nuthin'." And Bob laughed at his own wit, as was his custom. "How 'd it go?" Bob had wanted to ask this question, but he wished to let Uncle Lazar begin.

"Well, I hyern f'om Raphe Jackson, thes now, that the jury said 's Lockwood come to 'is final eend ut the han's uv Tom Grayson, ur sumpin like that; un they said 't wuz reg'lar b.l.o.o.d.y murder in the fust degree.

My! ef that wuz n't a mad crowd! They made a rush fer Grayson, but the depitty shurriff 'd got 'im away. Ef they 'd 'a' cotcht him they would n't 'a' made two bites uv him."

"You don't say!" Bob was a little stunned. He had not thought of Tom's being at the inquest. He felt that perhaps in coming away he had made a mistake that had come near to being a fatal one.

"They wuz thes a-howlin', Raphe said, un they had n't lef' the place when he come away. They wuz made madder by the way the young scoundrel stood up un _de_clared 't he did n' know nuthin' about the murder, arter 't wuz proved on him, plain 's the nose on a man's face, an' the dead man a-layin' right thar afore 'is own eyes."

Bob was in a brown study, and nothing was said on either side for half a minute. It made Bob uncomfortable to reflect that he had come near losing the game at the outset.

"I 'low 't 'll go hard weth the young feller to-night."

This roused McCord from the reverie produced from his surprise.

"I reckoned the boys'u'd be a-goin' to Moscow to-night," he said; and added, "Let 'em go!" And then he laughed as though he knew something.

"Say, Bob," said Uncle Lazar, whose curiosity was piqued beyond endurance, "what's in the wind? What wuz it fotcht you all the way over h-yer un the eenquest a-goin' on so closte to your house?"

"Had n' got no meat," said Bob, with a wink.

"They's sumpin more'n _that ar_. You've got sumpin ur nuther on Jake, I'll bet."

"I 'ke speck you know a whole lot, Uncle Lazar," said Bob. "I sh'd think you'd jest right up un guess now."

"Well, I can't seem to."

"Well, I'm not a-goin' to let 't out, Uncle Lazar, 'thout this 'ere whisky uh yourn's a leetle _too_ powerful fer me."

Bob did not fear the whisky: it was rare that whisky could get the better of such a frame as his; and, moreover, he was inured to it. He only threw out this hint to persuade his host to be more liberal in dispensing it.

But it appeared that Lazar's liberality with his whisky was probably exhausted; and Bob rose to go, affecting to be unsteady on his legs.

"Seddown, Bob; seddown, while I see about the mar'."

"Well, I 'low I will, Uncle Lazar. That air whisky uh yourn has sort-uh settled into my feet a leetle."

Lazar went out to see if the boy had brought the horse, making a signal to his daughter to try her skill at coaxing Bob to tell. Meantime Bob ogled S'manthy, who, like Delilah, was debating how she could win this Samson's secret. Presently he said, in a half-tipsy tone:

"S'manthy, you 'n' me wuz all-ays good frien's, wuz n't we?"

"Toobsh.o.r.e, Bob."

"I used to think you wuz _some_ at a hoe-down; you wuz the best-lookin'

un the liveliest dancer uv all. How you _did_ slam-bang the floor!"

S'manthy smiled in her faded way. "Bob, that's all saf'-sodder, un you know it. Say, Bob, ef you're sech a frien' why on yerth don' choo tell a-body what fotcht you over h-yer to-day?"

"Aw, well, I'd tell, on'y I'm afeared you'd go un let out."

"Not me. 'T a'n't like me to blab."

"Well, I don' mine tellin' _you_, S'manthy, 'f yeh won't tell the ole man tell mornin'."

"Oh! I'd never tell _him_. He'd go potterin' all over Broad Run Holler weth it, fust thing."