Seeing a light—it was a mere glimmer—in a lone homestead on the low ground between him and the cliff, he resolved to make his way down to it and await the dawn. With difficulty, for the hillside was covered with furze, he reached the byre where a candle burned on the ledge inside a small window. Peeping through a cob-webbed pane, he was able to recognise the farmhand at work inside, though the man’s back was turned towards him.
Unfortunately for the labourer, the noise made by the turnip-chopper he was working drowned the sound of the approaching footsteps, and Andrew’s voice at the half-open door was the first intimation he had of the Earthstopper’s presence.
“Mornin’, ’Gellas.”
“Lor’, you ded maake me joomp, An’rew. . . . Wisht news about Steve Jago, edna?”
“Bra’ an wisht. I do hear the poor auld woman’s gone clane out of her mind. ’Tes foolish like, but her scraachin’s thet unnarved me, I’m moast afeered to go and stop thet theere eearth touchin’ Deadman.”
“Laave un be, noathin’ eearthly waan’t go anighst un for thes day. A sinkin’ fox would raither die in th’ open nor maake for un. They do say when any man or woman o’ thes heere parish, and ’tes a bra’ big wan too, do die a vilent death like as ’ow” . . .
Andrew’s upraised palm had checked him.
“Then thee dost know all ’bout un?”
“Iss, iss, worse luck, I’ve heerd about the wisht auld thing.”
“Look here, An’rew,” said Tregellas under his breath as he drew close to him, “I don’t knaw how fur may be fancy like, for I’d bin thinkin’ ’bout un, but semmen to me I heerd a scraach from thet quarter about an hour agone and theere—theere edn any housen to moore nor a mile” . . .