After checking the road for gawkers, Dob stuffed the bag under a gooseberry bush, then he threw the drummer across the heifer's back and led her off the road, down into the woods. He was popping sweat, knowing he had to find a place to bury the drummer before he ran across anybody. Dob tugged at the heifer's halter, wooing her until she was coaxed down into the bottom of a steep ravine. Then he led her upcountry through deep tree cover until he reached a spot in the shadow of Choat's Peak, a spot where a trail he knew about began up the backside of Old Riddle Top; leading to Lord knew what and the hainted doings up there. But down here, behind a great boulder entwined with a gnarling black gum tree, Dob began to dig his hole. He dug for the better part of an hour with nothing but his clawing hands. After a while, winded, he got up and pulled the drummer off the heifer's back, laying him out alongside the hole and to Dob's disappointment, it was obvious the hole would need to be deeper, much deeper. He went back to clawing at the wormy, mulchy earth, resuming his prayers--avengeth me, me, delivereth from ther violent man--working himself into a full-throttle frenzy. Apparently, however, Dob had not been a complete success in his murder of poor Fritzy the drummer, because the fall from the heifer's back had begun to revive Fritzy who opened his eyes and saw that damn Dobber Magee, sweaty and testifying and digging himself a hole. The next thing Dob knew, the once-dead drummer leapt up resurrected--he leapt and dumped a large stone on Dob's noggin before racing off. "Oooph!" Dob grunted. Down the ravine the drummer ran, where his crazy-twill suit was quickly swallowed by trees. The stoning didn't knock Dob out, but it did overwhelm him as he flattened out on the ground, groaning while blood trickled out of his hair. Somewhere, dimly, in the back of his mind Dob realized that the drummer was gone--would go get others most likely--and there would be a trial or maybe not and dopey Dobber would be hanged for his sins just like his Nonny had suspected. He winced, trying to squeeze his eyes shut until this new twist of fate was scrunched from existance, but it did no good. The vision of Toodlem laying daffodils on Dob's grave and marrying some other, smarter man was simply too strong and just when Dob had begun to contemplate throwing himself off Choat's Peak he heard the voice. "Dob, ye dunderhead, stop yer snivelin." Dob opened his eyes. No one stood over him. He raised up and looked askance at the murmuring trees, but they murmured nothing he could understand. Then he heard it again. "Say Dobber boy, look down hyere afore ye put a crick in yer neck." It was the hole, a raspy voice from the hole. With great dread, Dob rolled onto his knees and peered into the hole--where he beheld a face. But not just any face. It was the face of an old moonfaced baby, encased in black earth at the bottom of his hole. And this face spake again in a raspy sputter. "Ye sure took long enough a-digging this hole, I thought you'd never git to me afore that drummer woke up and poleaxed ye." "Daaaaawg-dang," Dob heard himself say, eyes agog. "I figured you'd say that." "Wh-whud ye doin down in there?" asked Dob. "This is my bein, down in hyere. Yers is up there." Dob began to shuffle, itching to help. "Wait, wait--ye want me to dig ye on out--?" "No--stop---I don't need no more digging done, they ain't much more o'me to see and what there is ain't perty." "H-how long ye been down there." "Oh, since the last feller routed me out." "You mean they's others know bout ye?" "Awww sure, Dobber, but that'uz years gone by, long afore you was borned." "Daaawg--" "Course that last'n, he weren't too swift--not as bright as you," the lips moved eerily in the grimy moonface, the eyes were like green marbles and grit coated the skin. "He never would heed my warnings, sorry chap." "Whoo-whoo-whoooo was he?" "Don't matter now, you don't know him. Afore yer time." "Daaaawg---" was all Dob could muster as the marble eyes blinked up at him. He began to back away. "Whoooa there speed, where ye goin--?" "Lordy God Jehover--" Dob was beginning to think this critter in the hole must be some sort of earthly demon, left here by old Clootie himself; he might just be looking at a true seed of Satan. "Come'on back hyere Dobber boy--" "They gonna hang me good," Dob was slobbering, "That there drummer'll tell and Dobber'll be dust to dust, just like you--" "That's a good'n. Har-dee-harharhar. Ye skeered that drummer somethin fierce, boy. Right now he's a-toodlin back down to his car--be there jist afore church bells and C.Y.F. is done, and--shoooo--that drummer is gonna hightail outa these parts. Nope. Won't catch him round hyere fer a coon's age." Dob kept backing off. "S-so you say--" "Spit in d'well--Dobby, I knows. I knows these things. Git it? Now come'on over'chere--" But Dob cut away, fast. High time to cut and run, so he ran--praying a mile a minute as his clubfeet shot down that wooded ravine with his heifer plodding behind him. "Don't be skeered! They's plenty of us buried hither and yon!" he heard the hole hollering as he went.
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