“That is what I said,” returned Halloran, grimly.

“But, sir!” began old Adam, “this is no graveyard.”

“Curse you, who said it was?” cut in the other, sharply.

“It is not to be thought of, sir,” murmured the grave digger, trembling in every limb, his brain too bewildered to try to reason out the meaning of this strange request, and quite believing the stranger must be an escaped lunatic.

Coolly and deliberately Halloran drew a revolver from his pocket, and placed it at Adam’s throbbing temple, saying, grimly, and harshly: 

“You will do as I command or your life will pay the forfeit.  I give you one moment of time to decide.”

It was a moment so fraught with tragic horror that in all the after years of his life Adam always looked back to it with a shudder of deadly fear.

He was no longer young—­the sands of life were running slower than in the long ago—­still, life was sweet to him, ah, very sweet.  He had a good wife and little bairns at home, and an aged mother, to whom he was very dear, and he was their only support.

Who was this dark-browed stranger?  Why did he wish a grave dug by the roadside on this terrible night?  Whom did he wish to bury there, and was the body within the coach?

All these thoughts were surging rapidly through his brain, when suddenly Halloran said: 

“Your moment for contemplation is up.  Will you dig the grave here and now as I command you, or will you prefer that the next passer-by should find you on this spot with a bullet hole through your head?”

Even through the semi-darkness old Adam could see the stranger’s eyes gleaming pitilessly upon him as he uttered the words, and he realized that if he refused he might expect no mercy at this man’s hands.

“Your answer!” said Halloran, pressing the messenger of death still closer to the throbbing brow of the now thoroughly terrified old grave digger.

“Y—­es,” stammered old Adam.

“That is well,” declared Halloran, removing the weapon.  “Begin right here by the roadside.  This is as good a spot as any.  You need not make it the regulation depth—­three feet or such a matter will answer.  Begin without delay.  I will also add that not only will you save your own neck, but you shall earn a comfortable fee if you work quickly.  Mind, every minute counts.”

The old grave digger slowly took his spade from his shoulder, and by the light from the carriage lamp began his work on the spot pointed out, while Halloran stood by watching him with keen interest.

Old Adam was used to work in the terrible heat of summer and in the bitter cold of the winter.  He set to work with a will, and the frozen ground yielded quickly to the strokes of his trusty spade, and surely the faint moon, glimmering from between the drifting clouds sweeping across the dark face of the black heavens overhead, never looked upon a wilder, more weird scene.