March could see the coarse fingers rubbing against the backs of his hands, and a ray of light touched the pendulous jaw.
“It was the match I struck to light a cigar I smoked a while ago,” he said. “I dare say that may account for the light you have seen at other times.”
“Ye-es, sir”—dubiously. “I been saw the light lots o’ nights, when I aint spoke of it. ’Tain’t like er sergar. It’s like a lantern a-swinging this er way”—swaying one hand—“I clumb this tree one night, an’ sot thar till nigh mornin’, a-waitin’ an’ a-watchin’ fer it ter come again. There’s a man what tole me ’twas the devil a-watchin’ out for _me_.”
“I am surprised you try to catch him. From what I have heard, he is a slippery chap.”
“_No-ow_—I aint a-feerd on him fer myself. _Now_, I’d be loath fer him to worry Miss Hetty.”
“You are a good fellow, Homer! A brave fellow!” responded the listener, with sudden energy. “When you do get on the track of the light, let me know, and I’ll lend a hand to nab the devil.”
“Ye-es, sir! _Now_, I’ve been a-turnin’ over in my mind what that man say to me. He’s a man as ought to know what he’s talkin’ about. He t’reatened me orful a couple o’ times, sence we come to Fairhill. Sometimes I can’t sleep fer thinkin’ ’bout it. ‘You stay outen that orchard!’ he say. ‘Ther’ war a man murdered thar onct,’ he tell me, ‘an’ the devil is a-lookin’ fer him. Ef he come acrost you he’ll ketch you by a mistake,’ he say. But then, there’s Miss Hetty, you know, Mr. Gilchris’!”
“What under heaven has she to do with your man, or his devil, or the light? Who is the man who threatened you? Does he live in Fairhill?”
Homer plucked at his lower lip and glanced apprehensively around.
“I dunno!” he answered, in sullen evasion. “I met him on the street one day. Two times I come acrost him in the orchard. Onct he come to the garding gate. That was the time he tell me ’bout the murder an’ the devil.”
“He is a cruel, rascally liar!” cried March indignantly. “And you don’t know his name? What is he like? Did you ever speak of this to Miss Hetty?”
“No, sir. She got ’nough to fret her a’ready, Miss Hetty has. I’m ’fraid for her ’bout the man. _She_ aint ’fraid o’ nothin’. ‘You do what I tell you, Homer,’ sez she, ‘an’ I’ll stan’ between you an’ harm,’ she say. But she aint know ’bout the devil. Nor I aint heerd o’ the murder when she tell me _that_. That mought make a dif’rence.”