Yes; you'd be sarved putty saveer, if they war to know
on't. Wal, that mustn't be, and won't. So much I kin promise ye, Bill.
Yur evydince wouldn't count for nuthin' in a law court, nohow.
Tharfor, we won't bring ye forrad; so don't you be skeeart. I guess we
shan't wan't no more testymony, as thar ain't like to be any
crosskwestenin' lawyers in this case. Now; d'you slip back to yur
quarters, and gi'e yurself no furrer consarn. I'll see you don't git
into any trouble. May I be damned ef ye do!"

With this emphatic promise, the old bear-hunter separates from the less
pretentious votary of the chase; as he does so giving the latter a
squeeze of the hand, which tells him he may go back in confidence to the
negro quarter, and sit, or sleep, by the side of his Phoebe, without
fear.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

"TO THE JAIL!"

With impatience Judge Lynch and his jurors await the hunter's return.
Before his leaving them, they had well-nigh made up their minds to the
verdict. All know it will be "Guilty," given unanimously. Woodley's
temporary absence will not affect it. Neither the longer time allowed
them for deliberation. If this cause change, it will not be to modify,
but make more fixed their determination. Still others keep coming up.
Like wildfire the news has spread that the mother of the murdered man is
herself stricken down. This, acting as a fresh stimulus to sympathy,
brings back such of the searchers as had gone home; many starting from
beds to which they had betaken themselves after the day's fatigue.

It is past midnight, and the crowd collected around the cottage is
greater than ever. As one after another arrives upon the ground they
step across the threshold, enter the chamber of death, and look upon the
corpse, whose pale face seems to make mute appeal to them for justice.
After gazing on it for an instant, their anger with difficulty subdued
in the solemn presence of death, each comes out muttering a resolve
there shall be both justice and vengeance, many loudly vociferating it
with the added emphasis of an oath.

It does not need what Simeon Woodley has in store to incite them to
action. Already are they sufficiently inflamed. The furor of the mob,
with its mutually maddening effect, gradually growing upon them,
permeating their spirits, has reached the culminating point.

Still do they preserve sufficient calmness to wait a little longer, and
hear what the hunter may have to say. The