“Hush! man, what’s that?” said Luke, excitedly, as just then came the dull distant report of some piece.
“Zhooting,” said the man, coolly, as he took out the horse’s bit and strapped on his nose-bag.
“Do you mean that shot was fired at a convict?” said Luke, hoarsely.
“Safe enough,” said the man.
Luke leaped down.
“I think I’d draw up the windows, Mr Portlock,” he said. “The fog is very dank and chilly now.”
“Won’t you come in?”
“Thanks, no. Draw up the windows. I’ll stop and chat with the man. I dare say the mist will soon pass away.”
As the windows were drawn up, Luke uttered a sigh of relief, for it was horrible to him that Sage should hear what was going on, and just then there was another report, evidently nearer.
“I thought they’d be at it,” said the man. “Mind me smoking, zir?”