“How far have we come?” Hi asked. “Four miles?”
“Call it two and a bit.”
“It seems more, in this forest,” Hi said.
“I’m used to this forest,” the man said. “Do you find it gloomy at all?”
“No,” Hi said. “Not when I can see the sunlight.”
“The last bit is a bit gloomy,” the man said. “It would be a good place for putting anyone away, if anyone were inclined that way.”
“I suppose it would,” Hi said, becoming very watchful. “I didn’t consider it in that light. I suppose you always run some risk from Indians in a forest like this? Or are you too much feared by the Indians?”
“You never know where you stand with Indians,” the man answered. “But this is the sort of place they would choose, if they wanted me to pass over Jordan. And no one would be any the wiser. One would be bones in a week and green plantation in two: undiscoverable; just like part of the world.”
He led the way into a space which had been cleared not very long before by many men working together. Hi knew that Dudley Wigmore had been murdered by this man at the spot over which they had just passed. That was Wigmore’s foot sticking from the grave; that was Wigmore’s wraith dreeing his weird there. How soon was he to be added to Wigmore’s grave by those hands now playing upon the rifle?
“There now, what do you think of that?” the man asked, nodding ahead.