Now this had made honest people timid about going past The Warren at night; for, of course, it was said that the old Squire “walked,” upon certain nights of the moon, in and out of the trunks of trees, on the green path from the river.  On his shoulder he bore a fishing-rod, and his book of trout-flies, in one hand, and on his back a wicker-creel; and now and then he would burst out laughing to think of his coming so near the Doones.

And now that one turns to consider it, this seems a strangely righteous thing, that the scene of one of the greatest crimes even by Doones committed should, after twenty years, become the scene of vengeance falling (like hail from heaven) upon them.  For although The Warren lies well away to the westward of the mine; and the gold, under escort to Bristowe, or London, would have gone in the other direction; Captain Carfax, finding this place best suited for working of his design, had persuaded the Doones, that for reasons of Government, the ore must go first to Barnstaple for inspection, or something of that sort.  And as every one knows that our Government sends all things westward when eastward bound, this had won the more faith for Simon, as being according to nature.

Now Simon, having met these flowers of the flock of villainy, where the rising moonlight flowed through the weir-work of the wood, begged them to dismount; and led them with an air of mystery into the Squire’s ruined hall, black with fire, and green with weeds.

[Illustration:  677.jpg Rising moonlight]

“Captain, I have found a thing,” he said to Carver Doone, himself, “which may help to pass the hour, ere the lump of gold comes by.  The smugglers are a noble race; but a miner’s eyes are a match for them.  There lies a puncheon of rare spirit, with the Dutchman’s brand upon it, hidden behind the broken hearth.  Set a man to watch outside; and let us see what this be like.”

With one accord they agreed to this, and Carver pledged Master Carfax, and all the Doones grew merry.  But Simon being bound, as he said, to see to their strict sobriety, drew a bucket of water from the well into which they had thrown the dead owner, and begged them to mingle it with their drink; which some of them did, and some refused.

But the water from that well was poured, while they were carousing, into the priming-pan of every gun of theirs; even as Simon had promised to do with the guns of the men they were come to kill.  Then just as the giant Carver arose, with a glass of pure hollands in his hand, and by the light of the torch they had struck, proposed the good health of the Squire’s ghost—­in the broken doorway stood a press of men, with pointed muskets, covering every drunken Doone.  How it fared upon that I know not, having none to tell me; for each man wrought, neither thought of telling, nor whether he might be alive to tell.  The Doones rushed to their guns at once, and pointed them, and pulled at them; but the Squire’s well