“Come along here ’z quick ‘z y’ ken,” Abel answered, “‘n’ haaelp me fix this fellah.  Y’ been hurt, y’rself, ‘n’ the’ ’s murder come pooty nigh happenin’.”

Mr. Bernard heard the answer, but presently stared about and asked again, "Who’s hurt?  What’s happened?"

“Y’ ‘r’ hurt, y’rself, I tell ye,” said Abel; “‘n’ the’’s been a murder, pooty nigh.”

Mr. Bernard felt something about his neck, and, putting his hands up, found the loop of the lasso, which he loosened, but did not think to slip over his head, in the confusion of his perceptions and thoughts.  It was a wonder that it had not choked him, but he had fallen forward so as to slacken it.

By this time he was getting some notion of what he was about, and presently began looking round for his pistol, which had fallen.  He found it lying near him, cocked it mechanically, and walked, somewhat unsteadily, towards the two men, who were keeping their position as still as if they were performing in a tableau.

“Quick, naow!” said Abel, who had heard the click of cocking the pistol, and saw that he held it in his hand, as he came towards him.  “Gi’ me that pistil, and yeon fetch that ‘ere rope layin’ there.  I’ll have this here fellah fixed ’n less ’n two minutes.”

Mr. Bernard did as Abel said,—­stupidly and mechanically, for he was but half right as yet.  Abel pointed the pistol at Dick’s head.

“Naow hold up y’r hands, yeou fellah,” he said, “‘n’ keep ’em up, while this man puts the rope raound y’r wrists.”

Dick felt himself helpless, and, rather than have his disabled arm roughly dealt with, held up his hands.  Mr. Bernard did as Abel said; he was in a purely passive state, and obeyed orders like a child.  Abel then secured the rope in a most thorough and satisfactory complication of twists and knots.

“Naow get up, will ye?” he said; and the unfortunate Dick rose to his feet.

"Who’s hurt?  What’s happened?" asked poor Mr. Bernard again, his memory having been completely jarred out of him for the time.

“Come, look here naow, yeou, don’ stan’ aaeskin’ questions over ‘n’ over;—­’t beats all I ha’n’t I tol’ y’ a dozen times?”

As Abel spoke, he turned and looked at Mr. Bernard.

“Hullo!  What ‘n thunder’s that’ere raoun’ y’r neck?  Ketched ye ’ith a slippernoose, hey?  Wal, if that a’n’t the craowner!  Hol’ on a minute, Cap’n, ‘n’ I’ll show ye what that ’ere halter’s good for.”

Abel slipped the noose over Mr. Bernard’s head, and put it round the neck of the miserable Dick Venner, who made no sign of resistance,—­whether on account of the pain he was in, or from mere helplessness, or because he was waiting for some unguarded moment to escape,—­since resistance seemed of no use.

“I’m go’n’ to kerry y’ home,” said Abel; “th’ ol’ Doctor, he’s got a gre’t cur’osity t’ see ye.  Jes’ step along naow,—­off that way, will ye?—­’n I’ll hol’ on t’ th’ bridle, f’ fear y’ sh’d run away.”