Onward they pressed at a dog-trot. It was evening and getting dusk when they reached the neighbourhood.
"You go in, Dick, and I'll mount watchman."
The door was the contrivance of a genius, for, while it was designed to hold out boys and men, yet a small aperture beneath favored the entrance of ducks and other smaller creatures. The cave was in the side of a hill near the Red River stream, and opened on the roadway.
"I'll go in as soon as I get un open," says Dick, as he wrenched at the latch. By dint of tugging and pulling, the hasp was loosened, and in went Dick, crawling on his hands and knees, the height of the tunnel not permitting him to walk upright.
"Hast found any?"
"No, steward must 'ave been here. 'Tis a most beastly place and nigh turns one's stomach," muttered Dick from the interior.
There was the sound of a horse's tread in the distance, and the sound of whistling approaching. Fearing that the open door would excite suspicion, Ande gently closed it, and the hasp being a spring affair, fell into place. Then, stealing cautiously behind a neighbouring hedge, he awaited the passing of the traveller.
Dick, having made certain and wealthy discoveries in the egg line, his bag full and certain pockets bulged to their utmost, was, in the meantime, cautiously returning to the exit, where, before he knew it, he had bumped with the force of a battering ram against the closed door. It would not yield to any of his efforts, and then, thinking Ande was joking him, he cried out in impatient voice, "Lemme out, Ande, do, I got eggs a-plenty." Receiving no answer, he began butting afresh, and roared louder.
Now the horseman had approached and heard the infernal roaring and racket that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth. He was a simple, unsophisticated countryman, with an appetite for ale and a passion for thievery that was well known to the community. Greggs, as he was surnamed, was not noted for his personal courage, and the loneliness of the place, even in daylight, the gloom of the overshadowing trees, and the dusk of twilight, was not calculated to make or add any more heroism to his nature. Within his breast, as within all countrymen of the time, and even still, in many districts, there had constantly been drilled the old beliefs in witches, fairies, giants, goblins, and a host of other superstitions with which Cornwall has been replete for ages. It was no wonder, then, that when he came within the border of the shadow, etched darkly by the trees, he whistled louder, and finally burst into singing a hymn tune, to let all wandering spirits realise that he was a godly fellow, kicking his steed all the while to hasten its ambling pace.