“Hist, Jemmy!” he whispered.
“Hallo!”
“Shall we jump over and swim ashore?”
“Nay; what’s the good?—they’d come arter us, and there’s no getting away.”
“I say,” shouted Ram, “what are you going to do?”
Archy turned to the lieutenant.
“Take no notice. A day or two aboard will make him speak.”
“The cow wants turning out to grass,” shouted Ram; but no heed being paid to his words, “Oh, very well,” he said, “I don’t care. She’ll die, and you’ll have to pay for her. I wish my father knew.”
He need not have troubled himself to wish, for Farmer Shackle was lying down, hidden behind some stones on the top of the cliff, watching what was going on, with his brow rugged. He had heard enough of the conversation, after being attracted to the place by the action of his cows, to know that the kegs had been discovered, and he smiled as he made out that his boy and man were quite staunch, and would not say a word.
“Won’t get anything out o’ them,” he muttered, as he watched the returning boats. “Shall I tell old Graeme? No; that would only scare him. They’ll land a party, and come and search; but they won’t dare to go to the Hoze, so I’ll leave the stuff there and chance it.”