im earnestly.

"If you _can't_ trust me, what d'ye propose to do?" asked the scout with
a grin.

"You're right, Ben. I _must_ trust you, and, to say truth, from the
little I know of you, I believe I've nothing to fear. But my anxiety is
for Ralph--Buck Tom, I mean. You're sure, I suppose, that Mr Brooke
will do his best to shield him?"

"Ay, sartin sure, an', by the way, don't mention your Christian name
just now--whatever it is--nor for some time yet. Good-day, an' keep
quiet till I come. We've wasted overmuch time a'ready."

So saying, the scout left the coppice, and, flinging open his coat,
re-entered the cave a very different-looking man from what he was when
he left it.

"Hunky Ben!" exclaimed Buck, who had recovered by that time. "I wish
you had turned up half-an-hour since, boy. You might have saved my poor
friend Leather from a monster who came here and carried him away
bodily."

"Ay? That's strange, now. Hows'ever, worse luck might have befel him,
for the troops are at my heels, an' ye know what would be in store for
him if he was here."

"Yes, indeed, I know it, Ben, and what is in store for me too; but Death
will have his laugh at them if they don't look sharp."

"No, surely," said the scout, in a tone of real commiseration, "you're
not so bad as that, are you?"

"Truly am I," answered Buck, with a pitiful look, "shot in the chest.
But I saw you in the fight, Ben; did you guide them here?"

"That's what I did--at least I told 'em which way to go, an' came on in
advance to warn you in time, so's you might escape. To tell you the
plain truth, Ralph Ritson, I've bin told all about you by your old
friend Mr Brooke, an' about Leather too, who, you say, has bin carried
off by a monster?"

"Yes--at least by a monstrous big man."

"You're quite sure o' that?"

"Quite sure."

"An' You would know the monster if you saw him again?"

"I think I would know his figure, but not his face, for I did not see
it."

"Strange!" remarked the scout, with a simple look; "an' you're sartin
sure you don't know where Leather is now?"

"Not got the most distant idea."

"That's well now; stick to that an' there's no fear o' Leather. As to
yourself--they'll never think o' hangin' you till ye can walk to the
gallows--so cheer up, Buck Tom. It may be that ye desarve hangin', for
all I know; but not just at present. I'm a bit of a surgeon, too--bein'
a sort o' Jack-of-all-trades, and know how to extract