light splash or two, and Mr.
Fogo pointed frantically at the line of the moon's reflection on the
creek.

"There! Look--the boat!"

Caleb whipped the blunderbuss up to his shoulder and shouted--

"Who be 'ee? Darn 'ee, here goes--wan, two, dree, all to wanst!"

He pulled the trigger. A tongue of flame leapt forth and burst upon
the night with a terrific explosion; and as Caleb fell backwards with
the shock, the clumsy engine slipped from his fingers and fell with a
clatter upon Mr. Fogo's instep.

When the pair recovered and looked forth again, the echoes had died
away, and once more the night was tranquil.

Footnotes, Chapter XIX
[1] A monotonous chant or burthen.
[2] A fiddler.
[3] Thick-set.
[4] Stout.
[5] Strength.
[6] Kin.
[7] A concealed compartment or drawer.

CHAPTER XX.

HOW CERTAIN CHARACTERS FOUND THEMSELVES, AT DEAD OF NIGHT, UPON THE
FIVE LANES ROAD.

Panting, slipping, with aching sides, but terror at his heels, Sam
Buzza tore up the hill. Lights danced before him, imaginary voices
shouted after; but he never glanced behind. The portmanteau was
monstrously heavy, and more than once he almost dropped it; but it
was tightly packed, apparently, for nothing shook inside it.
Only the handles creaked in his grasp.

He gained the top, shifted the load to his left hand, and raced down
the other side of the hill. How he reached the bottom he cannot
clearly call to mind; but he dug his heels well into the turf, and
arrived without a fall. At the foot of the slope a wire fence had to
be crossed; next the railway line, then, across the embankment,
another fence, which kept a shred of his clothing. A meadow
followed, and then he dropped over the hedge into the high road.

Here he stopped, set down the portmanteau, and looked about him.
All was quiet. So vivid was the moonlight that as looking down the
road he could mark every bush, every tuft of grass almost, on the
illumined side. Not a soul was in sight.

The night was warm, and his flight had heated him intolerably.
He felt for his handkerchief to mop his brow, but snatched his hand
away.

His coat was burning. It was the lantern. Like a fool he had
forgotten to blow it out, and an abominable smell of oil and burning
cloth now arose from his pocket. He stifled the smouldering fire,
pulled out the lantern, and looked at his watch.

It wanted twenty minutes to eleven.

He had plenty of time; so,