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 of course he hath gone home long ago.

Blind man's holiday, as we call it.

I can see all over the place; and there is not even a rabbit there.' At that I drew my breath again, and thanked God I had gotten my coat on.
'Squire is right,' said Charlie, who was standing up high (on a root perhaps), 'there is nobody there now, captain; and lucky for the poor devil that he keepeth workman's hours.

Even his chopper is gone, I see.' 'No dog, no man, is the rule about here, when it comes to coppice work,' continued young de Whichehalse; there is not a man would dare work there, without a dog to scare the pixies.' 'There is a big young fellow upon this farm,' Carver Doone muttered sulkily, 'with whom I have an account to settle, if ever I come across him.

He hath a cursed spite to us, because we shot his father.