berty to
arrange my plans.

I dressed myself in a waggoner's frock and hat, in order to conceal my
person from my victim, and with Bill Martin's bowie knife in the breast
of my waistcoat and a large knotted bludgeon in my hand, almost a
fac-simile of one often carried by that ruffian, I sallied into the
road. My disguise was so complete, that few without a very near
inspection would have detected the counterfeit. Fortunately I met no
one on the road whom I knew, and reached the second gate in the dark
avenue which led to the one which opened into the high road, just ten
minutes before the coach drove up. I heard the bluff voice of the
coachman speaking to the horses. I heard Mr. Carlos, in his frank,
cheerful tones bid the coachman good-night. The stage rattled on, and
the 'Squire's measured step (for he had been a soldier in his youth)
sounded upon the hard gravel path that led from the avenue to the
plantation-gate, by the side of which I was concealed, behind the trunk
of a vast oak that cast its dense shadows across the road. Above, the
moon was shining in a cloudless sky.

After the first gate which opened upon the road had swung to after him,
Mr. Carlos commenced singing a favourite hunting-song, perhaps to give
me warning of his approach, or to ascertain if I had been true to my
word.

Nervous as I had been all day, I was now calm and collected. I had come
there determined to rob him, and nothing but the certainty of detection
could have induced me to abandon my purpose.

When he reached the gate, he called out in his clear voice, "Noah--Noah
Cotton! are you there?"

Receiving no answer, he opened the gate, and passed through. As he
turned to shut it, I sprang from my hiding-place, and with one blow
successfully, but not mortally aimed, I felled him to the ground.
Contrary to my calculations, he stood erect for a moment, and instead
of falling forward against the gate, he reeled back, and fell face
upwards to the earth. Our eyes met. He recognised me in a moment. To
save his life now was to forfeit my own, and the next moment I plunged
the bowie-knife to the hilt in his breast. He gasped out, "This from
you, Noah! Poor Elinor, you are terribly avenged!"

He never spoke more. I hastily searched his pockets, and drew from his
bleeding breast a large pocket-book, which contained the coveted
treasure. I then flung the bloody knife with which I had done the deed
to some distance, and fled from the spot, taking