"Ye say nuther word--'bout thet, an' I 'll make--a ghost outer ye--blame lively.

Now, ye shet up--if ye ride with me." They moved forward at a walk and reached a higher level, across which the night wind swept, bearing a touch of cold in its breath as though coming from the snow-capped mountains to the west.

There was renewed life in this invigorating air, and Murphy spurred forward, his companion pressing steadily after.

They were but two flitting shadows amid that vast desolation of plain and mountain, their horses' hoofs barely audible.

What imaginings of evil, what visions of the past, may have filled the half-crazed brain of the leading horseman is unknowable.