The other, alarmed at the expression in his companion's face, rose
also, and for several minutes the silence was only broken by the
crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace, the shrill chirp of
a cricket and the plaintive call of a whip-poor-will from without.
Then with a look of superstitious awe and terror upon his thin face,
the moonshiner gasped, in a choking voice, "Boyd City--Richard
Falkner--Mister, aint yo' mistaken? Say, ar' ye right shor'?"
Whitley replied, with an oath, "What's the matter with you? You look
as though you had seen a ghost."
The ignorant villain started and glanced over his shoulder to the dark
corner of the cabin; "Thar' might be a ha'nt here, shor' 'nough," he
whispered hoarsely. "Do yo' know whar' ye air, Mister?"
Then as Whitley remained silent, he continued: "This here's th' house
whar' Dickie Falkner war' borned; an' whar' his mammy died; an'--an'
I'm Jake Tompkins; me 'n his daddy war' pards."
Whitley was dazed. He looked around the room as though in a dream;
then slowly he realized his situation and a desperate resolve crept
into his heart. Carefully his hand moved beneath his coat until he
felt the handle of a long knife, while he edged closer to his companion.
The other seemed not to notice, and continued, as though talking to
himself: "Little Dickie Falkner. Him what fed me when I war' starvin',
an' gimme his last nickel when he war' hungry hisself; an' yo' want
me ter kill him."--He drew a long shuddering breath.
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