"Dick," he continued, forsaking the apostrophic form, "air a fool in this bizness; a dod-rotted, pursumptuous saphead. _He_ git satisfakshun out o' that lot, eyther by the law or otherways! They'd swing him up as soon as seed; an' he'd be seed afore he ked harm 'ere a one o' them. Then tha don't go 'beout 'ithout toatin' thar knives and pistols 'long wi' them, any more'n he. An' they'll be jest as riddy to use 'em. Ef't kim to thet, what then? In coorse the hole thing 'ud leak out, an' whar'd this chile be 'beout his six hundred dollars?" Durn Dick Tarleton! Jest for the sake o' a silly revenge he'd be a speiln' all, leavin' me as I've been all my life, poor as he's turkey gobbler. "It must be preevented, it must! "How air the thing to be done? Le's see. "Thar's one way I knows o', that appear to be eezy enuf. "Dick has goed to the town, an's boun' to kum back agin _from_ the town. That's no reeson why he shed kum back hyar. Thar's nobody to miss him! The gurl won't know he ain't gone for good. He's boun' to kum back afore mornin', an' afore thar's sunlight showin' among the trees. He'll be sartin' to kum along the trace, knowing thar's not much danger o' meetin' anybody, or bein' reco'nised in the dark. Why shedn't I meet him?" With this interrogatory, a fiendish expression, though unseen by human eye, passes over the face of the old hunter. A fiendish thought has sprung up in his heart. "Why shedn't I?" he pursues, reiterating the reflection. "What air Dick Tarleton to me? I haint no particklar spite agin him, thet is ef he'll do what I've devised him to do. But ef he won't, ef he won't-- "An' he won't. He's sed so, he's swore it. "What, then! Am I to lose six hundred dollars pre-annum, jess for the satisfakshun o' his spite? Durned ef I do, cost what it may. "The thing'd be as eezy es tumbling off o' a log. A half-an-hour's squatting among the bushes beside that ere gleed, the pull in' o' a trigger, an' it air done. That mout be a leetle bit o' haulin' an' hidin', but I kin eezy do the fust, and the Crik 'll do the last. I know a pool close by, thet's just the very place for sech a kinceelmint. "Who'd iver sispect? Thar's nobody to know; neery soul but myself, an' I reck'n that ere secret 'ud be safe enuf in this coon's keepin'." For some time the old hunter stands silent, as if further reflecting on the dark scheme, and calculating the chances of success or discovery. All at once an exclamation escapes him that betokens a change of mind. Not that he has repented of his hellish design, only that some other plan promises better for its execution.