But there was neither silence nor weeping.  Someone in a nearby kitchen rattled her pans and then cursed a dog away from her back-door.  Not that any of the sounds were loud.  The sounds of living are rarely loud, but they run in an endless river—­a monotone broken by ugly ripples of noise to testify that men still sleep or waken, hunger or feed.  Another ripple had gone down to the sea of darkness, yet all the ripples behind it chased on their way heedlessly and babbled neither louder nor softer.

There should have been some giant voice to peal over the sleeping village and warn them of the coming vengeance—­for Jerry Strann was dead!

The tall, gaunt figure of Haw-Haw Langley came on tiptoe from behind, beheld the dead face, and grinned; a nervous convulsion sent a long ripple through his body, and his Adam’s-apple rose and fell.  Next he stole sideways, inch by inch, so gradual was his cautious progress, until he could catch a glimpse of Mac Strann’s face.  It was like the open face of a child; there was in it no expression except wonder.

At length a hoarse voice issued from between the grinning lips of Haw-Haw.

“Ain’t you goin’ to close the eyes, Mac?”

At this the great head of Mac Strann rolled back and he raised his glance to Haw-Haw, who banished the grin from his mouth by a vicious effort.

“Ain’t he got to see his way?” asked Mac Strann, and lowered his glance once more to the dead man.  As for Haw-Haw Langley, he made a long, gliding step back towards the door, and his beady eyes opened in terror; yet a deadly fascination drew him back again beside the bed.

Mac Strann said:  “Kind of looks like Jerry was ridin’ the home trail, Haw-Haw.  See the way he’s smilin’?”

The vulture stroked his lean cheeks and seemed once more to swallow his silent mirth.

“And his hands,” said Mac Strann, “is just like life, except that they’s gettin’ sort of chilly.  He don’t look changed, none, does he, Haw-Haw?  Except that he’s seein’ something off there—­away off there.  Looks like he was all wrapped up in it, eh?” He leaned closer, his voice fell to a murmur that was almost soft.  “Jerry, what you seein’?”

Haw-Haw Langley gasped in inaudible terror and retreated again towards the door.

Mac Strann laid his giant hand on the shoulder of Jerry.  He asked in a raised voice:  “Don’t you hear me, lad?” Sudden terror caught hold of him.  He plunged to his knees beside the bed, and the floor quaked and groaned under the shock.  “Jerry, what’s the matter?  Are you mad at me?  Ain’t you going to speak to me?  Are you forgettin’ me, Jerry?”

He caught the dead face between his hands and turned it strongly towards his own.  Then for a moment his eyes plumbed the shadows into which they looked.  He stumbled back to his feet and said apologetically to Haw-Haw at the door:  “I kind of forgot he wasn’t livin’, for a minute.”  He stared fixedly at the gaunt cowpuncher.  “Speakin’ man to man, Haw-Haw, d’you think Jerry will forget me?”