“They are digging the grave!” said he to himself; the cold sweat started upon his forehead.  Every stroke of a spade, as it sounded through the silent groves, went to his heart; it was evident there was as little noise made as possible; every thing had an air of mystery and secrecy.  Sam had a great relish for the horrible—­a tale of murder was a treat for him; and he was a constant attendant at executions.  He could not, therefore, resist an impulse, in spite of every danger, to steal nearer, and overlook the villains at their work.  He crawled along cautiously, therefore, inch by inch; stepping with the utmost care among the dry leaves, lest their rustling should betray him.  He came at length to where a steep rock intervened between him and the gang; he saw the light of their lanthorn shining up against the branches of the trees on the other side.  Sam slowly and silently clambered up the surface of the rock, and raising his head above its naked edge, beheld the villains immediately below him, and so near that though he dreaded discovery, he dared not withdraw lest the least movement should be heard.  In this way he remained, with his round black face peering over the edge of the rock, like the sun just emerging above the edge of the horizon, or the round-cheeked moon on the dial of a clock.

The red-caps had nearly finished their work; the grave was filled up, and they were carefully replacing the turf.  This done, they scattered dry leaves over the place.  “And now,” said the leader, “I defy the devil himself to find it out.”

“The murderers!” exclaimed Sam involuntarily.

The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld the round black head of Sam just above them.  His white eyes strained half out of their orbits; his white teeth chattering, and his whole visage shining with cold perspiration.

“We’re discovered!” cried one.

“Down with him!” cried another.

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause for the report.  He scrambled over rock and stone, through bush and briar; rolled down banks like a hedgehog; scrambled up others like a catamount.  In every direction he heard some one or other of the gang hemming him in.  At length he reached the rocky ridge along the river; one of the red-caps was hard behind him.  A steep rock like a wall rose directly in his way; it seemed to cut off all retreat, when he espied the strong cord-like branch of a grape-vine reaching half way down it.  He sprang at it with the force of a desperate man, seized it with both hands, and being young and agile, succeeded in swinging himself to the summit of the cliff.  Here he stood in full relief against the sky, when the red-cap cocked his pistol and fired.  The ball whistled by Sam’s head.  With the lucky thought of a man in an emergency, he uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and detached at the same time a fragment of the rock, which tumbled with a loud splash into the river.

“I’ve done his business,” said the red-cap, to one or two of his comrades as they arrived panting.  “He’ll tell no tales, except to the fishes in the river.”