"It's a bad job. You're sure he's dead——"
"I wouldn't have done it for anything," the man who had fired the shot whispered. "I aimed at his legs, too. Damn the gun!"
He threw it into the heather, and turned away to hide his emotion.
The second warder glanced back over his shoulder. The fog was slipping down the hillside again. The stone wall and the ponies were already lost to view.
"Fire off your gun again; they'll hear it on the road. I'd better go back for the ponies, or we shall lose 'em."
"Which way did the other fellow go?"
"I don't know. You get the ponies—I'll wait here."
The second warder hurried up the hillside towards the stone wall and disappeared into the fog. The one who had fired the fatal shot stooped to pick up his gun. As he did so, the figure of the convict lying on the heather stirred. A second later he was on his feet, running for dear life!
He was gone before the warder could realise what had happened. He swung round and stared open-mouthed at the wall of fog surrounding him on all sides.
"Well, I'm damned!" he ejaculated.