"Yes, yes!" quoth the other lightly. "Madame will see to it. She always does. How many of you are there?" he added carelessly.
"Seven of us all told. They were a pack of cowards in that coach."
"Well!" concluded the man with the wooden leg, "we must leave Madame to settle accounts. I'd best place the money in safety now."
He struggled up into a standing position—which was no easy matter for him with his stump and in the restricted space—and was about to hoist the heavy wallet on to his powerful shoulders, when one of his mates seized him by the wrist.
"Hold on, Silver-Leg!" he said roughly, "we'll pay ourselves for our trouble first. Eh, friends?" he added, turning to the others.
But before any of them could reply there came a peremptory command from the man whom they had called "Silver-Leg."
"Silence!" he whispered hoarsely. "There's someone moving out there among the trees."
At once the others obeyed, every other thought lulled to rest by the sense of sudden danger. For a minute or so every sound was hushed in the narrow confines of the lair save the stertorous breathing which came from panting throats. Then the look-out man at the entrance whispered under his breath:
"I heard nothing."
"Something moved, I tell you," rejoined Silver-Leg curtly. "It may only have been a beast on the prowl."