amp along
the extremely rugged path, made profoundly dark by the overhanging low,
gnarled trees, he stopped short again and laid his hand in turn upon the
lips of the boys, and then touched Pen's musket, which he made him
ground, took hold of his hands in turn and laid them on the muzzle, and
then stood still.

"What's he up to now?" whispered Punch, with his lips close to his
comrade's ear.

"I think he means we are to halt and keep guard."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" muttered Punch; and he stood fast, while the
smuggler patted him on the shoulder and went off quickly, leaving the
boys alone, with Punch muttering and fuming in his intense desire to
speak. But he mastered himself and stood firm, listening as the steps
of the party behind came nearer and nearer till they were close at hand.
This was too much for Punch.

"Lookye here," he whispered; "they will be ready to march over us
directly. How are we going to tell them to halt?"

"Be silent. Perhaps they will have the sense to see that they ought to
stop. Most likely there are some amongst them who understand French."

Pen proved to be right in his surmise, for directly after a portion of
the following party were close to them, and the foremost asked a
question in Spanish. "_Halte_!" said Pen sharply, and at a venture; but
it proved sufficient. And as he stood in the dim, shadowy, overhung
path the word was passed along to the rear, and the dull sound of
footsteps died out. "Bravo!" whispered Punch. "They are beginning to
understand English after all. I say, ain't that our chaps coming back?"

Pen heard nothing for a few moments. Then there was the faint crack of
a twig breaking beneath some one's feet, and the smuggler who was acting
as their guide rejoined them.

"_Los Franceses_," said the man, in a whisper; and he dropped the
carbine he carried with its butt upon the stony earth, rested his hands
upon the muzzle, and stood in silence gazing right away, and evidently
listening and keenly on the alert, for he turned sharply upon Punch, who
could not keep his tongue quiet.

"Oh, bother! All right," growled the boy. "Here, comrade," he
whispered to Pen; "aren't these 'ere cork-trees?"

"Perhaps. I'm not sure," whispered his companion impatiently. "Why do
you ask? What does it matter now?"

"Lots. Just you cut one of them. Cut a good big bung off and stuff it
into my mouth; for I can't help it, I feel as if I must talk."

"Urrrrrrr!" grow