There was a suggestion that the half-dug grave should be deepened, and a body put into it--the body of Jerry Rook! It came from Slaughter, and was backed by Bill Buck. But the others were not plucky enough for such an extreme measure; and the old squatter was spared. Perhaps his rifle had something to do with the decision. They saw that he had it with him, and, although Jerry Rook was a sexagenarian, they knew him to be a sure and deadly shot. He would not be conquered without a struggle. "What the ole Nick air ye whisperin' 'beout?" he asked, seeing them with their heads together. "Plotting some kind o' a conspyracy, air ye? Wal, plot away. Ef ye kin think o' any way that'll git ye clear o' payin' me your hundred dollars apiece pree-annum, I'd like to hear it. I know a way, myself, maybe you'd like to hear it?" "Let's hear it, then!" "Wal, I am open to a offer, or, I'll make one to you; whichsomever you weesh." "Make it!" "Durn it, don't be so short 'beout it. I only want to be accommodatin'. Ef you'll each an' all o' ye pay me five hundred a piece, down on the nail, an' no darduckshin, I'll gie you a clar receet, an' squar up the hul buzness now!" "We can't give you an answer now, Jerry Rook," interposed the planter, without waiting for the others. "We shall consider your proposal, and tell you some other time." "Wal, tak' yur own time; but remember, all o' ye, thet Saturday nex air the day of the annival settlin'; an' don't fail to meet me at the usooal place. I hain't no spare beds, or I'd ask you all in; but I s'pose ye'll be a goin' back wi' Mr Slaughter thar, an' havin' a drink by way o' night cap? Don't forgit your spades; they mout git stole ef you left 'em hyar." This bit of irony terminated the scene, so far as the disappointed resurrectionists were concerned, who, like, a band of prowling jackals, scared from a carcass, turned in their tracks and sneaked sulkily away. "He! he! he!" chuckled the old pirate, as he stood watching them. "Out of the field--he! he! he!" he continued, stooping over the fresh turned earth, and examining their work. "They _war_ playin' a game wi' poor cards in thar hand--the set o' cussed greenhorns! Durnation!" That this last exclamation had no reference to the episode just ended, was evident from the cloud that passed over his countenance while giving utterance to it. Something else had come into his thoughts, all at once changing them from gay to grave. "Durnation!" he repeated, stamping on the ground, and glancing angrily around him. "I'd most forgotten it! Whar kin the gurl hev gone? "Ain't in her bed; nor ain't a been this night! _Ain't_ in the house neyther! Whar kin she be?" "I thort I mout a foun' her hyar; but this hain't hed nuthin' ter do wi' her. It kedn't a' hed.