The shock, as it landed upon him, drove Ed Hardin's knees back against his chest. His right arm, held ready to strike with the knife, was pinned and twisted painfully.
The knife slipped from his hand. A long arm shot forward and talon-like fingers clutched his hair. With his legs doubled back as they were, once more he was seized in the giant embrace, and he felt that his knees were being pressed into his chest until it soon must crush in like a shattered eggshell.
Then consciousness left him.
. . . When his senses slowly returned, he became aware of lights flashing and horses stamping, and the sound of men's voices.
Jonas Keil was speaking, and Ed had the rare experience of hearing himself discussed after he was thought to be dead.
"—'Most on my bended knees ter git 'im not ter do it. But he said he wouldn't feel right ter let Death run loose unhindered, long as he was livin' an' with strength ter fight. An' when he rid out single-handed an' alone, the bravest man what ever drawed breath was kilt."
From his position, he judged that he had been placed on the grass at the side of the road. Near him was someone who, from an occasional quivering intake of breath, seemed to have been sobbing.
He tried to turn and see who it was, and he found that he could not so much as twitch a finger.
He heard three new arrivals come up the road, a man on horseback and two runners, the two evidently holding by the rider's stirrup leathers. The rider, as soon as he drew up, said:
"We come soon's we heerd you-all was gone ter foller Ed. Arn's bringin' that waggin. Hit'll be here terreckly; we passed hit er piece back. But Arn didn' git the straights from Cy when he come atter the waggin what hit was kilt Ed. Po' ole Ed!"
Old Rensie Bucker, the negro who once had been a sailor, speaking with the patois of foreign birth, replied to him:
"Hit ees Jonas, de chile-minded neegar who was shanghaed from his mammy's shack down on de point ten year back. He had de mind of er chile an' de strength ob five men, wid his beeg wide shoulders an' short neck; wid de hump on his back an' his arms hangin' mos' ter his ankles. He was gentle in dem days; but de East Indee folks tuck heem off an' dey brought heem back er beast. He's frum de schooner, by his clothes, an' dey must have sot heem on de swamp road at night ter watch an' keel.
"Dere he lies, dead. De stump 'gin which he stuck when he pul Meester Ed Hardin frum his hoss had er sliver which stuck mos' through heem. Den when he fit wid Meester Ed de hurt must have killed heem, because there is no other wound."
The man beside Ed Hardin spoke, and Ed recognized him.
"Alex," he said huskily.
There was a cry of amazement. Alex called for a light. Someone else, evidently startled by the voice coming from what all had thought to be a dead man, started to run, kicked over a lantern, and was cursed roundly by the others, who were crowding up.
When the wagon arrived, he was so far recovered that, with the assistance of the others, he was able to clamber painfully in and sink to the blankets on the bottom, every joint in his body aching.
That two Buntlys had called the younger men to one side and they were whispering excitedly together. Presently the riding-horses all were tied at the side of the road, and when the wagon creaked its way homeward, Ed was accompanied only by Alex, who had refused to leave him, and by old Arner. Rensie had gone with the others.
Two days later, he was able to creep out to the front porch of Arner's little home and sit in the cool of a breeze that swept up form the bayou. After a space of silence, he asked:
"Arn, what'd them fellers do the yuther night? I can't git er peep outen 'em."
"They foun' right smart of stuff in boxes, what Rensie said was some sorter
