y take it, he has been called
from them on some matter connected with the subject under consideration.
At such a time who would dare interrupt their deliberations for any
trivial purpose? Although none of them has recognised Blue Bill's
voice, they know it to have been that of a negro. This, however, is no
reason why he should not have made some communication likely to throw
new light on the affair. So, on Woodley's return, once more gathering
around him, they demand to hear what it is.

He tells all that has been imparted to him; but without making known the
name of his informant, or in any way compromising the brave fellow with
a black skin, who has risked life itself by making disclosure of the
truth.

To him the old hunter refers in a slight but significant manner.
Comprehending, no one presses for more minute explanation.

"He as says all that," Woodley continues, after stating the
circumstances communicated by the coon-hunter, "has guv me the letter
dropped by Dick Darke; which, as I've tolt, ye, he picked up. Here air
the thing itself. Preehaps it may let some new light into the matter;
though I guess you'll all agree wi' me, it's clar enough a'ready."

They all do agree. A dozen voices have declared, are still declaring
that. One now cries out--

"What need to talk any more? Charley Clancy's been killed--he's been
murdered. An' Dick Darke's the man that did it!"

It is not from any lack of convincing evidence, but rather a feeling of
curiosity, that prompts them to call for the reading of the letter,
which the hunter now holds conspicuously in his hand. Its contents may
have no bearing upon the case. Still it can be no harm to know what
they are.

"You read it, Henry Spence! You're a scholart, an' I ain't," says
Woodley, handing the letter over to a young fellow of learned look--the
schoolmaster of the settlement.

Spence, stepping close up to the porch--into which some one has carried
a candle--and holding the letter before the light, first reads the
superscription, which, as he informs them, is in a lady's handwriting.

"_To Charley Clancy_" it is.

"Charles Clancy!"

Half a score voices pronounce the name, all in a similar tone--that of
surprise. One interrogates,--

"Was that letter dropped by Dick Darke?"

"It was," responds Woodley, to whom the question is addressed.

"Have patience, boys!" puts in the planter, who represents Justice
Lynch; "don't interrupt till we hear what'