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"Crymble," huskily whispered the Cap'n, "I put ye here out of a good meanin' meanin' to keep ye out of trouble. But I'm afraid I've got ye into it." "I told ye what she was and all about it," complained Mr. Crymble, bitterly. "It ain't 'she, it's it's " The Cap'n saw the bobbing head of Nute's Dobbin heaving into sight around distant alders. "All is, you needn't stay where I put ye." Mr.
Crymble, the police constable, were hacked to pieces before their mother's eyes, while she lay hidden in a bathing jar, from which she was eventually safely rescued; but Mr Steele, and Penty the Raja's European valet, succeeded in escaping to the jungle, and were both saved. The larger party were in the meanwhile attacking the fort, which was then but a small wooden stockade.
The word that he circulated, as he rattled down to Broadway's store and back, was that Cap'n Sproul and Hiram Look had attacked him with murderous intent, and that after he had bravely fought them off they had wantonly grabbed Mr. Dependence Crymble, jabbed him down a hole in the ground and kicked the hole in on him. "I've always vowed and declared they was both lunatics," cried the returning Mr.
Crymble unceremoniously into a calico-covered rocking-chair, whipped off the hard hat and hung it up, and took from Mr. Crymble's resisting hands the little valise that he had clung to with grim resolution. "Now, said Cap'n Sproul, you are back once more in your happy home after wanderin's in strange lands.
Gimme it, or I'll peg you like I peg tent-pegs for the big tent." And Reeves, having excellent ideas of discretion, passed over the list of trespasses. He did not look up at the windows of the Crymble house as he rode away with his brother, the squire.
Crymble a new sense of power and self-reliance. He hopped up, gathered a handful of rocks and made at his Xantippe. His aim was not too good and he did not hit her, but he stood for several minutes and soulfully bombarded the door that she slammed behind her in her flight. Then he came back and gathered more rocks from the scene of his recent burial.
And having made such progress during the day that his mind was free for other matters in the evening, he trudged over to Neighbor Hiram Look's to smoke with the ex-showman and detail to that wondering listener the astonishing death-claims of the returned Mr. Crymble.
"It must be a nice way of passin' a rainy Sunday," said the Cap'n, sarcastically, pushing the plate back across the table; "set and look at that and hum a pennyr'yal hymn! It's sartinly a rollickin' life you're leadin', Mister Crymble." Mr. Crymble did not retort.
Crymble. "You'll claim day's wages, every one of you." "Wages is cheaper in Chiny," said the Cap'n satirically. "You can cable round and have him dug out from that side if you want to. But I'm tellin' you right here and now that he's goin' to be dug out from one side or the other." "He's dead and he's buried, ain't he?" demanded Reeves, rallying to the support of the widow.
"They murdered that man, and I see 'em do it!" he squalled, and added, irrelevantly, "they covered my head up so I couldn't see 'em do it." Mrs. Crymble, who had been dignifiedly keeping the castle till the arrival of the constable, swooped upon the scene with hawk-like swiftness. "This day's work will cost you a pretty penny, Messers Look and Sproul," she shrilled.
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