"Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. It was locked. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check.
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