were face to face. The enigma
was solved. From the crest of a knoll over which Lysander drove him like
a lamb, he saw, lying on the ground in a little glen before them, the
dark forms of some forty men.

One of these rose to his feet and advanced to meet Lysander. It was
Silas Ropes.

"All ready?" said Sprowl.

"Ready and waiting," said Silas.

"Well, push on," said the captain. "We'll go to the dead bodies in the
ravine first. Where's Pepperill?"

"Here," replied Ropes; and at a summons Dan appeared.

Carl's heart sank within him. Toby in the guard-house had told him about
the dead bodies, and he knew that they were not far from the cave. He
was aware, too, that Pepperill knew far more than one of such shallow
mental resources and feeble will, wearing that uniform, and now in the
power of these men, ought to know.

There in the little moonlit glen they met and exchanged glances--the
sturdy, calm-faced boy, and the weak-kneed, trembling man. Pepperill had
not recovered from the terror with which he had been inspired, when
summoned to guide a reconnoitring party to the ravine. But he had not
yet lisped a syllable of what he knew concerning the cave. Carl gave him
a look, and turned his eyes away again indifferently. That look said,
"Be wery careful, Dan, and leave a good deal to me." And Dan, man as he
was, felt somehow encouraged and strengthened by the presence of this
boy.

"Now, Pepperill," said Sprowl, "can you move ahead and make no mistake?"

"I kin try," answered Pepperill, dismally. "But it's a heap harder to
find the way in the night so; durned if 'tain't!"

"None o' that, now, Dan," said Ropes, "or you'll git sunthin' to put
sperrit inter ye!"

Dan made no reply, but shivered. The mountain air was chill, the
prospect dreary. Close by, the woods, blackened by the recent fire, lay
shadowy and spectral in the moon. Far above, the dim summits towards
which their course lay whitened silently. There was no noise but the low
murmur of these men, bent on bloody purposes. No wonder Dan's teeth
chattered.

As for Carl, he killed a mosquito on his cheek, and smiled triumphantly.

"You got a shlap, you warmint!" he said, as if he had no other care on
his mind than the insect's slaughter.

"Who told you to speak?" said Lysander sharply.

"Vas that shpeaking?" Carl scratched his cheek complacently. "I vas only
making a little obserwation to the mosquito."

"Well, keep your observations to yourself!"