kettle inside, amidst a
chorus of ugly growls from the beleaguered outlaws. The brimstone was
then put into the kettle, more fire applied, and the hole covered
quickly with boughs. And now even we younger boys were allowed to bear a
hand, scraping up snow and piling it over the boughs, the better to keep
in the smoke and fumes.

The splutter of the burning sulphur could plainly be heard through the
barrier, and also the loud, defiant bark of old Bender and the growls of
Tige.

Very soon the barking ceased, and there was a great commotion, during
which we heard the kettle rattle. This was succeeded presently by a
fierce, throaty snarling of such pent-up rage that chills ran down the
backs of some of us as we listened. After a few minutes this, too,
ceased. For a little space there was complete silence; then began the
strangest sound I ever heard.

It was like the sad moaning of the stormy wind, as we sometimes hear it
in the loose window casements of a deserted house. Hardly audible at
first, it rose fitfully, moaning, moaning, then sank and rose again. It
was not a whine, as for pity or mercy, but a kind of canine farewell to
life: the death-song of the outlaws. This, too, ceased after a time; but
old Hewey did not advise taking away the boughs for fifteen or twenty
minutes. "Make a sure job on't," he said.

Choking fumes issued from the cave for some time after it was opened and
the stones pulled away. Bender was then discovered lying only a few feet
back from the entrance. He appeared to have dashed the kettle aside, as
if seeking to quench the fire and smoke. Tige was close behind him,
Watch farther back. Very stark and grim all four looked when finally
they were hauled out with a pole and hook and given a finishing shot.

It was thought best to burn the bodies of the outlaws. The fire on the
shore was replenished with a great quantity of drift-wood, fir boughs
and other dry stuff which we gathered, and the four carcasses heaved up
on the pile. It was a calm day, but thick, dark clouds had by this time
again overspread the sky, causing the pond to look still blacker. The
blaze gained headway; and a dense column of smoke and sparks rose
straight upward to a great height. Owing to the snow and the darkening
heavens, the fire wore a very ruddy aspect, and I vividly recall how its
melancholy crackling was borne along the white shore, as we turned away
and retraced our steps homeward.

CHAPTER XXX

A HEART