"'Tis an old mine shaft," said Dick. "We must cross the bridge."
"Will it bear us, think 'ee?" said Sam timorously.
"It will, if it bears smugglers carrying tubs. We must try."
Dick leant forward and probed the planks with the muzzle of his fowling-piece.
"'Tis firm and steady," he said. "I will go first. Don't start until I get across. The candle will give you more light than it gives me."
"I don't like to see 'ee do it," said Sam, almost whimpering. "If ye fall, 'twill be yer grave."
But Dick had already set his foot on the bridge. He trod warily, moving almost by inches until he reached the middle. Then he quickened his pace, and covered the second half in three swift strides.
"'Tis quite safe," he whispered, turning at the end.
"Didn' it wamble?"
"No."