With some difficulty he clambered up to the bush. Looking round to make sure that he was not espied, he forced his way into it, and waited. The time passed slowly. It was a black March evening, with a nipping wind, and in spite of his cloak Jack felt bitterly cold. Hour after hour drawled away, and there had been no sound. He wondered whether the run had been abandoned. Or had he, after all, made a mistake?
At last, when, feeling numbed and depressed, he had almost resolved to leave the spot, he heard voices from just above—on the zigzag path from Gudgeon's farm to the sea.
"Send round the word; she'll be in in ten minutes. There's no preventives on the prowl, or we'd have heard afore now from Totley Point or Laxted Cove. Aha! Goodman and his joes have never yet got past Peter Bunce and Jan Derriman. Bill, a' believe I've got some o' they pellets in my calf yet."
"More fool 'ee for meddling wi' old Joe."
One of the men hurried down the path, while the other returned to the top of the cliff. Listening intently, Jack heard the man's footsteps sounding ever more faintly as they receded in the direction of the village.
He was right, then! This was Sandy Cove, and here the run was to be made. He felt impatient for the work to begin. The sky was very dark, there was no moon—smugglers avoided moonlit nights—but the air was so clear that he hoped to see well enough for his purpose.
Ah! there were dark figures moving quietly about the beach below. The men had taken off their boots, it appeared, and there—yes! It was the black shape of a vessel slowly approaching the shore. The sails were run down with scarce a sound; the lugger hove to within a few yards of the cove; then, on a gangway invisible to Jack, the smugglers went to and fro, those coming shoreward bent under heavy burdens.
Jack watched eagerly. The carriers brought their loads up the chine, and disappeared along the same path that he himself had followed a few hours before. It seemed but a few minutes; then he heard a voice say "That's the last;" the lugger stood out to sea, and Sandy Cove was as quiet as though nothing had happened.
Slipping out of his hiding-place, Jack very cautiously followed the last man, who carried no load and seemed to be in some authority over the rest. Jack could never venture near enough to see his features, nor even to get a complete view of his form. He tracked him to Congleton's Hollow, and there was compelled to pause and dodge some of the carriers who, having finished their work, were making their way homeward across the fields. Waiting a little while until all seemed safe, he crept across the Hollow to the summer-house where he had found the iron steps. It was from this that the carriers had come. Clearly the smuggled goods had been deposited there. He searched as thoroughly as he could in the darkness, but could find no trace of them.
"'Tis a job for daylight," he said to himself. "Now for my tramp back."