But he met neither ox team, light wagon
chaise, horseman, nor foot traveller, till, just as he crossed
Salmon River, a man came trudging down to the bridge with a bundle
over his shoulder, on the end of a stick.
"Good morning, mister," said the pedlar, reining in his mare. "If
you come from Kimballton or that neighborhood, may be you can tell
me the real fact about this affair of old Mr. Higginbotham. Was the
old fellow actually murdered two or three nights ago, by an Irishman
and a nigger?"
Dominicus had spoken in too great a hurry to observe, at first,
that the stranger himself had a deep tinge of Negro blood. On
hearing this sudden question, the Ethiopian appeared to change his
skin, its yellow hue becoming a ghastly white, while, shaking and
stammering, he thus replied: "No! no! There was no colored man! It was
an Irishman that hanged him last night, at eight o'clock. I came
away at seven! His folks can't have looked for him in the orchard
yet."
Scarcely had the yellow man spoken, when he interrupted himself,
and though he seemed weary enough before, continued his journey at a
pace which would have kept the pedlar's mare on a smart trot.
Dominicus started after him in great perplexity. If the murder had not
been committed till Tuesday night, who was the prophet that had
foretold it, in all its circumstances, on Tuesday morning? If Mr.
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