"I kain't seem to remember," he said, perplexedly. "But I'm shore glad I killed him."
Then, again, silence fell. There could be no triumph really over the death of Hodges, because it had involved the destruction of Plutina as well. The five men stood about awkwardly. The solemnity of death lay like a pall over them. In the stress of suffering, Zeke had moved on from youth to the full stature of manhood. Uncle Dick had added a score of years to his apparent age. Brant grieved much, if less seriously. Only the veteran and the marshal had escaped personal loss, though they, too, mourned deeply. None ventured to suggest leaving the doomed spot. It seemed as if a sinister spell held them there, vaguely expectant, though wistful to flee.
Rather, perhaps, it was their sadness that made seem sinister a spell actually benignant. For, of a sudden, while they still stood mute, Brant raised a hand to command attention, and pointed toward the verge of the precipice.
"Hark!" he commanded.
They listened intently. Then, all heard a faint, tremulous, whimpering note, long drawn-out, querulously appealing. Zeke started and stared in the direction of the sound with an incredulous frown. Brant shook his head sorrowfully: it was not the voice of Jack. The others were merely bewildered by this unexpected development.
The whining continued, grew louder. Came a plaintive yelp. Out of the abyss was thrust a clinging paw, another. The squat face of the bull-terrier peered at them from over the top of the cliff. Next instant, the dog had scrambled safely on the Slide. It raced to Zeke with shrill cries of delight, leaped high to its master's breast, where it was caught and held closely. The slavering tongue lavished caresses. Zeke felt a warm glow of comfort in the creature's return. Yet, it did but render more frightful the loss of that being so infinitely more precious. He hardly heard Uncle Dick speaking.
"Hit's dum curi's," the old man said, lowering on Seth Jones. "I thought as how ye said the pup was a-hangin' on to Tiny's dress."
"It was so," the veteran answered. "I 'low the dawg must 'a' let loose when hit got in the air."
"Hit's dum curi's," Uncle Dick repeated, and turned to regard the bull-terrier with bent brows.
Zeke himself put a term to the mystification that had gripped him as well as the others. He raised a hand to the dog's throat, to restrain the too eager demonstrations of affection. At the collar he felt something unaccustomed. He looked, idly enough, and saw that a leathern thong had been tied firmly in the ring. To the thong was attached a little leather bag. The things were strange to him, yet they moved him profoundly. He found himself trembling--why, he knew not.