“Come aside,” muttered Stevens; and, taking the arm of the incautious speaker, he led him away from the crowd and took the way out of the village. Their meeting and departure did not occasion much, if any, sensation. The visitors in the village were all too busy in discussing the drink and doctrines, pretty equally distributed, of Jerry the publican. But there was one eye that noted the meeting of the friends; that beheld the concern and confusion of Stevens: that saw their movements, and followed their departing steps. “Take your horse--where is he?” demanded Stevens. “Here, at hand; but what do you mean to do?” “Nothing, but get out of hearing and sight; for your long tongue, Ben, and significant face, would blab any secret, however deep.” “Ah! did I not say that I would find you out? Did you get my last letter?” “Ay, I did: but I'm devilish sorry, Ben, that you've come. You'll do mischief. You have always been a mar-plot.” “Never, never! You don't know me.” “Don't I?--but get your horse, and let's go into the woods, while we talk over matters.” “Why not leave the nags here?” “For a very good reason. My course lies in that direction, so that I am in my way; while yours, if your purpose be to go back to Frankfort, will lie on the upper side. Neither of us need come back to the village.” “And you think to shuffle me off so soon, do you?” “What would you have me do?” “Why, give us a peep at this beauty--this Altamira of yours--at least.” “Impossible! Do not think of it, Ben; you'd spoil all. But, get the horse. These billet-heads will suspect mischief if they see us talking together, particularly when they behold your conceited action. This political landlord will surmise that you are a second Aaron Burr, about to beat up recruits to conquer California. Your big whiskers--what an atrocious pair!--with your standing collar, will confirm the impression.” The two were soon mounted, and rode into the adjoining woods. They were only a stone's-throw from the village, when Stevens alighted, followed by his companion. They hitched their horses to some swinging branches of a sheltering tree, and, going aside a few paces beyond, seated themselves upon the grass, as they fancied, in a place of perfect security. “And now, Ben, what in truth brings you here?” demanded Stevens, in tones of voice and with a look which betrayed anything but satisfaction with the visit. “Curiosity, I tell you, and the legs of my horse.” “Pshaw! you have some other motive.” “No, 'pon honor. I resolved to find you out--to see what you were driving at, and where. I could only guess a part from your letter to Barnabas, and that costive scrawl with which you honored me. Perhaps, too--and give my friendship credit for the attempt--I came with some hope to save you.” “Save me--from what?”