"
'He had the pistol he discharged in his left hand by this time, and a
loaded one in his right.
'"'Tis his own act, Irons. _I_ did not want it; but I'll protect myself,
and won't hold my life on ransom, at the hands of a Jew or a Judas,"
said he, smiling through his black hair, as white as a tombstone.
'"I am neither," says I.
'"I know it," says he; "and so you're _here_, and he _there_."
'"Well, 'tis over now, I suppose," says I. I was thinking of making off.
'"Don't go yet," says he, like a man asking a favour; but he lifted the
pistol an inch or two, with a jerk of his wrist, "you must help me to
hide away this dead fool."
'Well, Sir, we had three or four hours cold work of it--we tied stones
in his clothes, and sunk him close under the bank, and walled him over
with more. 'Twas no light job, I can tell you the water was near four
feet deep, though 'twas a dry season; and then we slipped out a handsome
slice of the bank over him; and, making him all smooth, we left him to
take his chance; and I never heard any talk of a body being found there;
and I suppose he's now where we left him.
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