Emerging from this aperture, he was about to descend, when he was alarmed by hearing the tramp of horses' feet swiftly approaching, and had only time to hide himself behind one of the largest signboards before alluded to when two horsemen rode up. They were terrible, horrible people. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly.
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