LITMIR.BIZ

      “Sh!”

      “What is it, Huck?”

      “They’re HUMANS! One of ‘em is, anyway. One of ‘em’s old Muff Potter’s voice.”

      “No — ’tain’t so, is it?”

      “I bet I know it. Don’t you stir nor budge. He ain’t sharp enough to notice us. Drunk, the same as usual, likely — blamed old rip!”

      “All right, I’ll keep still. Now they’re stuck. Can’t find it. Here they come again. Now they’re hot. Cold again. Hot again. Red hot! They’re p’inted right, this time. Say, Huck, I know another o’ them voices; it’s Injun Joe.”

      “That’s so — that murderin’ halfbreed! I’d druther they was devils a dern sight. What kin they be up to?”

      The whisper died wholly out, now, for the three men had reached the grave and stood within a few feet of the boys’ hiding-place.

      “Here it is,” said the third voice; and the owner of it held the lantern up and revealed the face of young Doctor Robinson.

      Potter and Injun Joe were carrying a handbarrow with a rope and a couple of shovels on it. They cast down their load and began to open the grave. The doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and came and sat down with his back against one of the elm trees. He was so close the boys could have touched him.

      “Hurry, men!” he said, in a low voice; “the moon might come out at any moment.”

      They growled a response and went on digging. For some time there was no noise but the grating sound of the spades discharging their freight of mould and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally a spade struck upon the coffin with a dull woody accent, and within another minute or two the men had hoisted it out on the ground. They pried off the lid with their shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on the ground. The moon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallid face. The barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it, covered with a blanket, and bound to its place with the rope. Potter took out a large spring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and then said:

      “Now the cussed thing’s ready, Sawbones, and you’ll just out with another five, or here she stays.”

      “That’s the talk!” said Injun Joe.

      “Look here, what does this mean?” said the doctor. “You required your pay in advance, and I’ve paid you.”

      “Yes, and you done more than that,” said Injun Joe, approaching the doctor, who was now standing. “Five years ago you drove me away from your father’s kitchen one night, when I come to ask for something to eat, and you said I warn’t there for any good; and when I swore I’d get even with you if it took a hundred years, your father had me jailed for a vagrant. Did you think I’d forget? The Injun blood ain’t in me for nothing. And now I’ve GOT you, and you got to SETTLE, you know!”

      He was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by this time. The doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on the ground. Potter dropped his knife, and exclaimed:

      “Here, now, don’t you hit my pard!” and the next moment he had grappled with the doctor and the two were struggling with might and main, trampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels. Injun Joe sprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatched up Potter’s knife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round and round about the combatants, seeking an opportunity. All at once the doctor flung himself free, seized the heavy headboard of Williams’ grave and felled Potter to the earth with it — and in the same instant the halfbreed saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the young man’s breast. He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in the same moment the clouds blotted out the dreadful spectacle and the two frightened boys went speeding away in the dark.

      Presently, when the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing over the two forms, contemplating them. The doctor murmured inarticulately, gave a long gasp or two and was still. The halfbreed muttered:

      “THAT score is settled — damn you.”

      Then he robbed the body. After which he put the fatal knife in Potter’s open right hand, and sat down on the dismantled coffin. Three — four — five minutes passed, and then Potter began to stir and moan. His hand closed upon the knife; he raised it, glanced at it, and let it fall, with a shudder. Then he sat up, pushing the body from him, and gazed at it, and then around him, confusedly. His eyes met Joe’s.

      “Lord, how is this, Joe?” he said.

      “It’s a dirty business,” said Joe, without moving.

      “What did you do it for?”

      “I! I never done it!”

      “Look here! That kind of talk won’t wash.”

      Potter trembled and grew white.

      “I thought I’d got sober. I’d no business to drink tonight. But it’s in my head yet — worse’n when we started here. I’m all in a muddle; can’t recollect anything of it, hardly. Tell me,

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