RED DOG CLARION was right.

Tennessee's Partner was not in the group that surrounded the ominous
tree. But as they turned to disperse attention was drawn to the singular
appearance of a motionless donkey cart halted at the side of the road.
As they approached, they at once recognized the venerable "Jenny" and
the two-wheeled cart as the property of Tennessee's Partner--used by him
in carrying dirt from his claim; and a few paces distant the owner
of the equipage himself, sitting under a buckeye tree, wiping the
perspiration from his glowing face. In answer to an inquiry, he said he
had come for the body of the "diseased," "if it was all the same to the
committee." He didn't wish to "hurry anything"; he could "wait." He
was not working that day; and when the gentlemen were done with the
"diseased," he would take him. "Ef thar is any present," he added, in
his simple, serious way, "as would care to jine in the fun'l, they
kin come." Perhaps it was from a sense of humor, which I have already
intimated was a feature of Sandy Bar--perhaps it was from something even
better than that; but two-thirds of the loungers accepted the invitation
at once.

It was noon when the body of Tennessee was delivered into the hands of
his Partner. As the cart drew up to the fatal tree, we noticed that
it contained a rough, oblong box--apparently made from a section of
sluicing and half-filled with bark and the tassels of pine. The cart was
further decorated with slips of willow, and made fragrant with buckeye
blossoms. When the body was deposited in the box, Tennessee's Partner
drew over it a piece of tarred canvas, and gravely mounting the narrow
seat in front, with his feet upon the shafts, urged the little donkey
forward. The equipage moved slowly on, at that decorous pace which
was habitual with "Jenny" even under less solemn circumstances. The