“Ned,” said one of the men in a hoarse whisper, “just cross right over, and see if there’s any one about.”
The man addressed crept cautiously over to the farther side of the line, and along the road either way for a hundred yards or more, and then returned to his companions.
“It’s all right,” he whispered; “there’s not a soul stirring, as I can hear or see.”
“Well, wait a bit,” said the man whom he addressed; “just let’s listen.”
All was perfectly quiet.
“Now, then,” said the first speaker again, “the express won’t be long afore it’s here; who’ll do it?”
“Why, Joe Wright, to be sure; he’s got the most spirit in him. I know he’ll do it,” said another voice.
“He’s got most beer in him, at any rate,” said the first speaker.
There was a gruff chuckle all round.
“Well, I’m your man,” said Wright; “I’ve carried the bag, and I may as well finish the job.”