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Then he told Sticky-toes all about how Boomer the Nighthawk had said that he had seen Sammy Jay going to bed up in the far-away Old Pasture, and how that very night Sammy Jay's voice had been heard screaming down in the alders beside the Laughing Brook. Sticky-toes nodded his head. "I heard it," said he. "But how could Sammy Jay be down here if he went to bed way off there in the Old Pasture?
She passed so close to us that the skirt of her cloak nearly brushed our persons, and disappeared toward the gate. The iron latch was heard to click, the door of the carriage to open and close, and then the vehicle began to move. Nighthawk took two quick steps in the direction of the gate. "I am going to follow the carriage, colonel," he whispered. "I have been waiting here to do so.
None appeared; but at two hundred yards from the road, in a hidden hollow, I thought I perceived the glimmer of a fire probably made by some straggler. I rode toward it, descended into the hollow, approached the fire, beside which crouched a figure, wrapped in an overcoat. The figure raised its head and I recognized Nighthawk. He rose and smiled benignantly, as he shook hands with me.
Insects were humming lazily in the perfumed night air, and across the lake a courting whip-poor-will was explaining to his sweetheart just how much and why he loved her. A few bats were wavering in air hunting insects, and occasionally an owl or a nighthawk crossed the lake. Killdeer were glorying in the moonlight and night flight, and cried in pure, clear notes as they sailed over the water.
"Like lightning, Surry! I wish to dispatch him at once!" Without reply I wheeled my horse, and went back rapidly toward the house in the Wilderness. I soon reached the spot, rode to the window, and called to Nighthawk, who came out promptly at my call. "Your friend has not arrived?" I said. "He will not come till midnight, colonel."
He is a very consummate rascal, knows the value of that document, and my appointment with him to-night is with an eye to its purchase from him." "Do you think he will come?" "I think so. He would sell his soul for gold." "And that woman? he seems to be her friend." "He would sell her for silver!" After uttering which bon mot, Mr. Nighthawk smiled. This man puzzled me beyond expression.
"But frogs won't hurt you," drawled Tom. "I know all that," sighed Nan. "But they sound as if they would. There! That one says, just as plain as plain can be, 'Throw 'im in! Throw 'im in!" "Good!" chuckled Tom. "And there's a drunken old rascal calling: 'Jug-er-rum! Jug-er-rum!!" A nighthawk, wheeling overhead through the rain, sent down her discordant cry.
The nighthawk circled overhead in the sunny afternoons for I sometimes made a day of it like a mote in the eye, or in heaven's eye, falling from time to time with a swoop and a sound as if the heavens were rent, torn at last to very rags and tatters, and yet a seamless cope remained; small imps that fill the air and lay their eggs on the ground on bare sand or rocks on the top of hills, where few have found them; graceful and slender like ripples caught up from the pond, as leaves are raised by the wind to float in the heavens; such kindredship is in nature.
He says his name is 'Poor Will' and he wants you to whip him, and you may if you are able to catch him." Poor Will seemed the most wonderful of all the strange creatures we had seen. What a wild, strong, bold voice he had, unlike any other we had ever heard on sea or land! A near relative, the bull-bat, or nighthawk, seemed hardly less wonderful.
"Well, he returned, colonel, but Amanda could tell him nothing which you no doubt have heard." "Yes, from him." "I have been more successful, at last, in dealing with this strange woman. I do not know if she is a witch or an epileptic, or what but she has convinced me that Alibi has the paper we want." And Nighthawk proceeded to explain. It was an exceedingly curious explanation.
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