Now, had Burlman Reynolds taken the second thought, he might have known that, even had a white man been murdered there, and left on top of the ground, his ghost would hardly be so unreasonable as to choose an hour so unseasonable for making such an appeal to the living in behalf of the bones; seeing it would be impossible to find the bones in the darkness, covered up as they must be by leaves and grass, as bones usually are under the circumstances--perhaps scattered far and wide by the wolves, as bones are apt to be, if left exposed to ravenous animals of the kind. All this, not to mention the slender likelihood that any one should be coming along that way with a spade and pick-ax, at that time of night, and so far from the settlements. Further, had Burlman Reynolds taken the third thought, he might have known that even had the ghost of a slain hunter been encountered then and there, he should be found taking his nightly airing in a buckskin hunting-shirt, rather than in a winding-sheet; woven fabrics of all kinds being still very scarce and dear in the Paradise, Irish linen especially. Though the saying was often in his mouth, Burlman Reynolds did sometimes fail to bear in mind that "dare's reason in all things." But soon bethinking him of his usual shift for reaessurance on such occasions--his touch-stone, so to speak--Burl turned to note what impression this grizzly shade of the night was making on the steadfast mind of Grumbo. The dog was composedly waiting for him a few yards in advance; his nose, that infallible index of what was in the wind, turned straight before him in the direction of real dangers, not of imaginary horrors, which--let them be met with where they might--were rather to be sneezed at than sniffed at. Whereat the black giant picked up heart enough to pick up a club and fling it at the ghastly apparition, half expecting to see the missile pass through without impediment, as missiles are wont to do under circumstances of the kind. But the club was cheeked by substance as solid as itself, the result being a sounding thump. Thereupon, eyes and ears comparing notes, it was discovered that the thing of dread was nothing more than the twisted and splintered stump of a storm-felled hickory-tree, the white sap-wood whereof had been stripped of its bark by lightning. "Pshaw! what a fool you is anyhow, Burlman Rennuls!" cried the Fighting Nigger, fetching the individual addressed a heavy blow of the fist on the breast. "Sich a everlastin' ol' fool, always a gittin' our nose out o' j'int somehow, you don't know how; an' skeerin' at somethin' you don't know what, that even a dog won't stop to smell at. Git out an' g' 'long!" And smarting under this stinging rebuke, the unlucky Burlman Reynolds hastened to rejoin his dog, who, doubtless, was wondering why his two-footed comrade should all on a sudden become so intensely interested in a splintered stump.