Stark drew off from the fellow. The shadow of the gloomy woods was close at hand, and he turned from it. Several times he looked back, fearing to see a ghostly figure in pursuit.
Bunol clung close to him. They had not proceeded far before two other forms rose from behind an old stone wall. Stark halted, his heart giving a leap, but one of the two called, and he recognized the voice of Hogan.
Hogan and Crauthers were shivering. The cold night wind seemed to cut them to the bone. Their teeth chattered, and Crauthers seemed almost on the verge of collapse.
“Fellows,” said Stark, “we were fools to run away like that. We should have stayed. Perhaps Arlington was not dead. He may lay there and die in the woods.”
“I wouldn’t go back there for a thousand dollars!” said Crauthers.
Hogan longed to go back, but he lacked the nerve.
They all turned on Bunol, whom they reviled for his act.
“Yah!” snarled the Spaniard. “You squeal! You just as bad! You send me to do it.”
“Get away from us!” said Hogan. “We want nothing more to do with you!”
“Perhaps you blow on me?”