“Are you sure, James?” he said slowly; and from beyond the hummock there came a fresh burst of laughter.
Eastwood made no reply.
“Did I hear you right? You say he’s gone?”
“Yes.... I see you know naught about it. Then tell me how he came crippled?”
One of Monjoy’s hands was making little plucking movements at his lip, and suddenly he turned and walked a few yards towards the Bog. Soon, “Eh?” he said mechanically over his shoulder, “At my hands, James, at my hands;” and he resumed his walk. Eastwood looked at the ground at his feet, and by and by Monjoy approached him again.
“You’re quite—quite sure that’s——?” he faltered, and without waiting for an answer he began to walk again.
He had put away quickly the solution that had leaped instantaneously into his mind. He did not dare to ask for that of the flockmaster. Another noisy peal of laughter came from behind the hill; and suddenly Monjoy felt such a shiver pass over him as they say is caused by the fall of a footstep over the place that is to be your grave.
By and by he found himself at Eastwood’s side again.
“Tell me quick what you think?” he commanded.
The flockmaster did not look at him. “A chaise went up the Fullergate the night afore last, past midnight.”