"Guess we'd better wait till Tully comes," said Carrots uneasily. Bates and Kent had been campmates. An hour later Tully walked into camp.
He spoke to no one that day. In the morning Bates found him down on the coast digging, and said: "Hello, Tully! Guess we ain't much hell on lynchin!"
"Naw," said Tully. "Git a spade."
"Goin' to plant him there?"
"Yep."
""Where he kin hear them waves?"
"Yep."
"Purty spot."
"Yep."
"Which way will he face?"
"Where he kin watch fur that damned canoe!" cried Tully fiercely.
"He—he can't see," ventured Bates uneasily. "He's dead, ain't he?"
"He'll heave up that there sand when the canoe comes back! An it's a-comin! An' Bud Kent'll be in it, dead or alive! Git a spade!"
The pale light of superstition nickered in Bates's eyes. He hesitated.
"The—the dead can't see," he began; "kin they?"
Tully turned a distorted face toward him.
"Yer lie!" he roared. "My brother kin see, dead or livin'! An he'll see the hangin'
