The First Voice: An’ I tell ye ’e be better dead.
The Second Voice: And I say, I’ll ha’ no more bloodshed.
All about him was the tramp of feet muffled upon grass; and sometimes it seemed they laboured uphill and sometimes down, but always these two voices disputed, now waxing so loud and clear that he seemed on the point of recognising them, now blurred and indistinct, sinking to a murmur, a whisper, until they were not, and it seemed he was asleep and plagued by nightmare. It was after one of these many lapses that he was conscious the painful jolting had ceased, felt himself dragged roughly from the horse’s back, and had a dim vision of many legs that hemmed him in as he lay upon the grass.
“Ain’t dead, is ’e?” inquired a hearty voice, faintly interested.
“Dead—no, dang ’im!” answered the Sullen Voice, and a foot spurned him savagely. “Dead—not ’im! Though ’e ought to be, aye an’ would be, if I ’ad my way.”
“Easy, mate, easy!” admonished the Hearty Voice.
“Hold y’r tongue, you do!” cried the Querulous Voice. “Hold your tongue for a bloody-minded rogue or——”
“Avast, shipmates!” quoth the Hearty Voice. “Throat-slittin’ be a ticklish business.”
“Yah—dead men doan’t talk!”
“Mebbe not, mate, but live-un’s do! An’ then there be ghosts, shipmate, ghosts, d’ye see.”