They soon reached the poplar tree and the blanket-swathed figure bound against it. By lantern light it looked more grotesque and monstrous than by day, and Mr. Samson came within an ace of taking a snap shot at it, and then beating a hasty retreat. The captain was too quick for him, however, noticed the twitch of the miller's arm, and gripped him by the wrist.
"It's tied fast, whatever it is," he said.
"Don't you see the ropes? Come on, Benjamin, and keep a grip on your nerve. Here, let me take the gun!"
"I ain't scart," replied Samson thickly. "It gave me a start for a second, that's all."
They approached the shapeless figure cautiously.
"Who are you?" cried Wigmore.
The thing twisted and squirmed, and a muffled, choking, bestial sound came from it.
"I'll bet a dollar it's a man," said Benjamin. "Now what kind o' trick is this, I'd like to know? Maybe there's bin murder done. There's bin too many queer tricks 'round here lately to suit me."
"It is tied up in a blanket," said the captain. "Feel it, Benjamin, and find out what it is."
"Not me," returned Samson. "I guess it's only a man, but I ain't particular about feelin' of it. You go ahead, cap'n. I'll hold the light for you."