"I do not know as it is worth while to examine it; the old fellow knows his business," remarked Halloran to his companion, who was by this time fairly well under the weather from large draughts of brandy he had drunk from a bottle he had seized from the bar. "Step up on the box beside the driver"—thrusting a bank note into the old grave digger's nervous, trembling hand—"we will take you along the road as far as we go."
For an instant old Adam hesitated, but it was only for an instant, for he said to himself he must not arouse the suspicion of this stranger by refusing to ride, especially as he had begged for that permission so short a time before. He could frame no reasonable excuse for asking to remain behind.
Marking the spot as best he could in the intense darkness, he climbed up to the driver's box as he had been bidden, and took his seat.
With a sharp cut of the whip upon their flanks, the horses were started, and swaying to and fro with their every motion as they dashed along over the uneven road, the coach sped onward.
No word fell from the driver's lips, and old Adam was too much excited to vouchsafe a remark.
He knew that the men, as well as the rig, did not belong thereabouts, for he well knew every team in the village, and those of the adjoining farmers.
How far they traversed thus he could not judge, but to his intense relief he saw at last that they were passing a familiar landmark, an old bridge that spanned a dry creek which was scarcely a dozen rods from his own door.
"I will leave you here," said Adam. "I thank you for giving me a lift."
Again the coach came to a halt, and the man within put out his head, inquiring sharply:
"What is the matter now?"