Pushing the bushes aside,
he peered among their shadows for some moments, and then uttered
an exclamation of surprise and terror as he bounded backward.
There was no mistake this time; he had seen the figure of a man
with a ray of moonlight filtering through the leaves on a ghastly
bullet-hole in his temple. He sat with his back against the fence,
and had not moved after receiving the shock. At his feet, dropped
evidently from his nerveless hand, lay a metal box. All had
flashed almost instantaneously on Jeff's vision.
For some moments he was in doubt whether to take to his heels
homeward or reconnoitre again. The soldier sat in such a lifelike
attitude that while Jeff knew the man must be dead, taking the box
seemed like robbing the living. Yes, worse than that, for, to the
superstitious negro, the dead soldier appeared to be watching his
treasure.
Jeff's cupidity slowly mastered his fears. Cautiously approaching
the figure, he again pushed aside the screening boughs, and with
chattering teeth and trembling limbs, looked upon the silent
guardian of the treasure, half expecting the dead man to raise his
head, and warn him off with a threatening gesture.
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