I han't time to go round an' point it out; but 'tis to be known by bein' greener than the rest o' the turf.

What's thrown in there niver comes up, an' no man can dig for it.

The folks'll give the press-gang the credit when I'm missin'-- " "You forget the mare and cart." "Lead her back to the road, turn her face to home, an' fetch her a cut across th' ears.

She always bolts if you touch her ears." "And you really wish to die ?" "Oh, my God!" Zeb broke out; "would I be standin' here if I didn' ?" The stranger rose to his feet, and drew out his pistols slowly.
"It's a thousand pities," he said; "for I never saw a man develop character so fast." He cocked the triggers, and handed the pistols to Zeb, to take his choice.
"Stand where you are, while I step out fifteen paces." He walked slowly along the fosse, and, at the end of that distance, faced about.
"Shall I give the word ?" Zeb nodded, watching him sullenly.
"Very well.

I shall count three slowly, and after that we can fire as we please.