ests, or whether it would be too
dark for it. It was now a quarter of an hour mayhap, since I had made
any chopping noise, because I had been assorting my spars, and tying
them in bundles, instead of plying the bill-hook; and the gentle tinkle
of the stream was louder than my doings. To this, no doubt, I owe my
life, which then (without my dreaming it) was in no little jeopardy.

For, just as I was twisting the bine of my very last faggot, before
tucking the cleft tongue under, there came three men outside the hedge,
where the western light was yellow; and by it I could see that all three
of them carried firearms. These men were not walking carelessly, but
following down the hedge-trough, as if to stalk some enemy: and for a
moment it struck me cold to think it was I they were looking for. With
the swiftness of terror I concluded that my visits to Glen Doone were
known, and now my life was the forfeit.

It was a most lucky thing for me, that I heard their clothes catch in
the brambles, and saw their hats under the rampart of ash, which is made
by what we call 'splashing,' and lucky, for me that I stood in a goyal,
and had the dark coppice behind me. To this I had no time to fly, but
with a sort of instinct, threw myself flat in among the thick fern, and
held my breath, and lay still as a log. For I had seen the light gleam
on their gun-barrels, and knowing the faults of the neighbourhood, would
fain avoid swelling their number. Then the three men came to the gap
in the hedge, where I had been in and out so often; and stood up, and
looked in over.

It is all very well for a man to boast that, in all his life, he has
never been frightened, and believes that he never could be so. There
may be men of that nature--I will not dare to deny it; only I have
never known them. The fright I was now in was horrible, and all my bones
seemed to creep inside me; when lying there helpless, with only a billet
and the comb of fern to hide me, in the dusk of early evening, I saw
three faces in the gap; and what was worse, three gun-muzzles.

'Somebody been at work here--' it was the deep voice of Carver Doone;
'jump up, Charlie, and look about; we must have no witnesses.'

'Give me a hand behind,' said Charlie, the same handsome young Doone I
had seen that night; 'this bank is too devilish steep for me.'

'Nonsense, man!' cried Marwood de Whichehalse, who to my amazement was
the third of the number; 'only a hind cutting faggots; and o