"Have you brought the spades?"
said one. "They are here," replied another, who had them on his
shoulder. "We must dig deep, where there will be no risk of
discovery," said a third.
A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he saw before him
a gang of murderers, about to bury their victim. His knees smote
together. In his agitation he shook the branch of a tree with
which he was supporting himself as he looked over the edge of the
cliff.
"What's that?" cried one of the gang. "Some one stirs among the
bushes!"
The lantern was held up in the direction of the noise. One of the
red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it toward the very place
where Sam was standing. He stood motionless, breathless, expecting
the next moment to be his last. Fortunately his dingy complexion
was in his favor, and made no glare among the leaves.
"'Tis no one," said the man with the lantern. "What a plague! you
would not fire off your pistol and alarm the country!"
The pistol was uncocked, the burden was resumed, and the party
slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched them as they went, the
light sending back fitful gleams through the dripping bushes, and
it was not till they were fairly out of sight that he ventured to
draw breath freely.
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