Part 43 (2/2)

The negro looked considerably crestfallen. He seemed doubtful whether to break and run or stay and try to face it out.

”I can't help an accident,” he said, at last, when the other remained covering him with the rifle.

”No,” was the answer. ”An accident is liable to happen to any one, they say. But two accidents, of the same kind, on the same day--accidents that might either of them have been fatal if you were not such an awfully bad marksman--are too many. When _I_ get ready to fire, there will be no accident.”

The negro was plainly uneasy. He cast his eyes on the ground and writhed.

”You have dropped your gun,” said Roseleaf. ”That was right. It would have incommoded your flight, and its only cartridge was used. You would have had no time to reload. I know that gun very well; I have heard it many times in the last six weeks. I knew the sound of it to-day when you fired the first time. A rifle has a voice, like a man; did you know that? I knew it was your gun and that you were at the end of it. With that information in my possession, of course you couldn't catch me napping twice. I pretended to watch my cooking, but in reality I watched nothing but you. There is no need that you should say anything, Hannibal. You could not tell me much, if you tried.”

The speaker examined his rifle carefully, still keeping the muzzle turned toward the person he was addressing. The latter did not seem to grow less uneasy.

”I spent some time last evening,” continued Roseleaf, presently, ”in listening to a little conversation you had with a certain young lady living a mile or so from this spot. That surprises you, does it? I thought it might. I learned how you had ruined her peace of mind, how you had artfully contrived to make her appear the opposite of what she really was. Now, you have tried twice within the last hour to murder me.

For this I could have forgiven you. What you did to that young woman is, however, a more serious matter. I don't think anything less than pulling this trigger will expiate that.”

He placed the rifle to his shoulder again, as he spoke, and glanced along the sight. The negro half turned, as if of a mind to attempt an escape, and then, realizing the hopelessness of such a move, sank on his knees and raised his hands piteously.

”If you have anything to say, be quick!” said the hard voice of the man who held the rifle.

Then Hannibal blurted out his story. He told how he had been led, step by step, to hope that he might rise above his station, until the wild idea entered his brain that he could even make Daisy Fern love and marry him. He pleaded the disappointments he had suffered, the terrible revulsion of feeling he had undergone, the broken life he had been obliged to take up. He did not want to be killed. If allowed to go he would swear by all that was good never to cross the path of the Ferns, or Roseleaf, or any of their friends again. When his treaties brought no verbal response he grew louder in his tone, feeling that something must be done to move the deaf ears to which he addressed his pet.i.tion.

”If I allowed you to leave here, you would try to shoot me the next time you had a chance,” said the novelist. ”I should merely be giving my life in exchange for yours, which I do not consider a good bargain.”

”No, I swear it before G.o.d!” came the trembling words in reply.

”I cannot trust you.”

A slight sound attracted the attention of Roseleaf as he uttered the latter words. It was the sound that oars make when dipped in water. With a quick glance to one side he beheld a rowboat, in which were seated Archie Weil and Daisy Fern, and they were coming directly toward him.

”Here are some of the others you have wronged,” he said, pointing. ”I will wait to see if their opinions agree with mine.”

Daisy saw him first, as Weil was handling the oars, and she called her companion's attention to him. Archie called his name.

”Come here!” was Roseleaf's reply. ”I have winged a black duck and I cannot leave.”

A few more movements of the oars brought the boat to the sh.o.r.e, and the surprise of its occupants can be imagined when they saw the tableau that awaited them. Hannibal was still groveling on the earth, and the att.i.tude of Roseleaf plainly showed the cause of the negro's terror.

”What has he done?” was the first question, and it was Daisy's voice that asked it.

”Let him tell,” replied Roseleaf, nonchalantly. ”Tell the lady what you did, Hannibal.”

With a courage born of his knowledge of the young lady's kind heart, Hannibal now turned his attention toward her. He begged her to plead with his would-be executioner to give him one more chance for his life, and reiterated his promises to cease meddling with all of their affairs if this was granted. As he spoke Daisy crept nearer to Roseleaf's side, and when he paused for a moment to gain breath, she laid her fair hand on the rifle.

”You would not kill a fellow creature?” she said, gently.

”A fellow creature?” he retorted. ”No! But a wolf, a snake, a vulture--yes.”

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