Nor does he waste any. Without further stay, he flings his arm around
the coon-dog: raises the unresisting animal from the earth; and "swarms"
up the creeper, like a she-bear carrying her cub.

In ten seconds after, he is snugly ensconced in a crotch of the
sycamore; screened from observation of any one who may pass underneath,
by the profuse foliage of the parasite.

Feeling fairly secure, he once more sets himself to listen. And,
listening attentively, he hears the same voices as before. But not any
longer in angry ejaculation. The tones are tranquil, as though the two
men were now quietly conversing. One says but a word or two; the other
all. Then the last alone appears to speak, as if in soliloquy, or from
the first failing to make response.

The sudden transition of tone has in it something strange--a contrast
inexplicable.

The coon-hunter can tell, that he continuing to talk is his young
master, Richard Darke; though he cannot catch, the words, much less make
out their meaning. The distance is too great, and the current of sound
interrupted by the thick standing trunks of the cypresses.

At length, also, the monologue ends; soon after, succeeded by a short
exclamatory phrase, in voice louder and more earnest.

Then there is silence; so profound, that Blue Bill hears but his own
heart, beating in loud sonorous thumps--louder from his ribs being
contiguous to the hollow trunk of the tree.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

MURDER WITHOUT REMORSE.

The breathless silence, succeeding Darke's profane speech, is
awe-inspiring; death-like, as though every living creature in the forest
had been suddenly struck dumb, or dead, too.

Unspeakably, incredibly atrocious is the behaviour of the man who has
remained master of the ground. During the contest, Dick Darke has shown
the cunning of the fox, combined with the fiercer treachery of the
tiger; victorious, his conduct seems a combination of the jackal and
vulture.

Stooping over his fallen foe, to assure himself that the latter no
longer lives, he says,--

"Dead, I take it."

These are his cool words; after which, as though still in doubt, he
bends lower, and listens. At the same time he clutches the handle of
his hunting knife, as with the intent to plunge its blade into the body.

He sees there is no need. It is breathless, almost bloodless--clearly a
corpse!

Believing it so, he resumes his erect attitude, exclaiming in louder
tone, and with like profan