lling the earth back again into the excavation they had so
swiftly made, covertly watched him as he skulked into the shadow of the
wayside. The little "church-house," with all its windows whitely aglare
in the moonlight, reflected the pervasive sheen, and silent, spectral,
remote, it seemed as if it might well harbor at times its ghastly
neighbors from the quiet cemetery without, dimly ranging themselves once
more in the shadowy ranks of its pews or grimly stalking down the drear
and deserted aisles. The fact that the rising ground toward the rear of
the building necessitated a series of steps at the entrance, enabled the
officer to mask behind this tall flight his crouching approach, and thus
he ensconced himself in the angle between the wall and the steps, and
looked forth in fancied security.

The shadows multiplied the tale of the dead that the head-boards kept,
each similitude askew in the moonlight on the turf below the slanting
monument To judge by the motions of the men engaged in the burial and
the mocking antics of their silhouettes on the ground, it must have been
obvious to the spectator that they were already filling in the earth.
The interment may have seemed to him suspiciously swift, but the
possibility was obvious that the grave might have been previously dug
in anticipation of their arrival. It was plain that he was altogether
unprepared for the event when they came slouching forth to the wagon,
and the stalwart and red-faced driver, with no manifestation of
surprise, hailed him as he still crouched in his lurking-place. "Hello,
stranger! Warn't that you-uns runnin' arter the wagon a piece back
yonder jes a while ago?"

The officer rose to his feet, with an intent look both dismayed and
embarrassed. He did not venture on speech; he merely acceded with a nod.

"Ye want a lift, I reckon."

The stranger was hampered by the incongruity between his rustic garb,
common to the coves, and his cultivated intonation; for, unlike his
comrade Browdie, he had no mimetic faculties whatever. Nevertheless, he
was now constrained to "face the music."

"I didn't want to interrupt you," he said, seeking such excuse as due
consideration for the circumstances might afford; "but I'd like to ask
where I could get lodging for the night."

"What's yer name?" demanded Barker, unceremoniously.

"Francis Bonan," the raider replied, with more assurance. Then he added,
by way of explaining his necessity, "I'm a stranger here