"Wonder if that is Butterfly?" he thought. "Now, if Mr. Pattercough is of the same type as friend Stigler and a bit of a tough customer I'd best lie low. Somehow I hardly like to argue the point about the lawful ownership of a donkey in this desolate spot." There were plenty of places of concealment. Barcroft selected the shelter afforded by a gorse-bush close to the left hand side of the road. Immediately opposite was a beaten track that evidently effected a junction with the cliff path. At any rate, it wound in that direction, following the steeply sloping sides of a narrow, rugged valley. The cart approached slowly. The driver seemed in no hurry, for he made no attempt either by word of mouth or by the application of his whip to hasten the animal. Only when the vehicle was opposite Peter's place of concealment did the man utter a subdued "Woa." The donkey--for such it was--made no attempt to stop. "That's Butterfly for a dead cert," commented Peter. The man uttered an imprecation, jumped from the cart and tugged viciously at the animal's bridle. Then, by main force, he backed the donkey a short distance along the side track. "Plenty o' time," Barcroft heard him remark. "Better an hour too early than five minutes too late." "Awkward habit, expressing one's thoughts aloud," mused Peter. "I do it myself occasionally, and I know. Now, what are you doing with a loaded cart on this unfrequented road at this time of night? I scent a mystery. I'll wait an hour and see what happens. If nothing, then I will kick myself for being an inquisitive ass." The pedlar was not going to be inactive. Unharnessing the donkey--Peter was now absolutely convinced that it was Butterfly--he led the animal to a patch of grass-land hidden from the road by the bushes, a task requiring considerable physical strength. This done he backed the cart from the path until the gorse hid it from the watcher's sight. Ten long minutes passed. The pedlar, swinging his arms vigorously, for the night air was chilly, made no attempt to look up or down the road. The person or persons he expected were evidently not approaching from that direction. Presently he walked to the cart, removed something from under the tarpaulin--it was too dark to see what the article was--and set off along the side track. At fifty yards he surmounted a steep rise and disappeared the other side. The sound of his footsteps, deadened by the nature of the soil, quickly died away. "Now I'll investigate," decided Barcroft. "If he returns in a hurry there'll be trouble. Friend Pattercough looks like a quarrelsome card. However, I'll risk it."