“This is some of the very wine you are now drinking,” said the speaker to his chief.
“Very good stuff it is,” said Death-wing, quaffing off a bumper, and smacking his lips. “Very good stuff it is; but it has one great fault—there is not enough of it. We must pay the farmer another visit, I think, shortly. Go on with your story.”
“During the night, while we were drinking and smoking, and enjoying ourselves in the forest, never thinking that any one had observed us, or knew anything of what we had done, a gipsy woman crept up to me, and before I was aware of it, said,
“‘The officers are on your track.’
“‘How do you know it?’ I answered.
“‘I have just come from the farm, and all is in an uproar. They have got all the county officers there, and are preparing to follow you.’
“I laughed at this, for I knew they could never find out where we had got to.
“However, I listened to the gipsy, and gave her some refreshment, and she became very chatty.
“She seemed to know all about our doings, and said if she had a mind to do so she could find out you, Captain Death-wing, any day she liked.”
“Indeed; she must be very clever, then.”