The wind moaned through the trees with a dreary sound, dying away like a sigh. The woods were still. The trees and the thickets seemed to listen and wait for some sign of life in that motionless figure. Stark called to Hogan and Crauthers as he stumbled along the path. He uttered exclamations of annoyance, pain, and anger when branches whipped him stingingly across the face. Three or four times he stumbled and fell, but he was up again and hurrying on in a twinkling. “Where are those fools?” he grated. “What do they mean by running away and leaving me like this!” He paused a moment to listen, and then he gave a great start, for right beside him a voice spoke: “They run like cowards.” “Bunol!” exclaimed Stark, far from pleased. “What in blazes do you mean by following me so closely? I didn’t hear you behind me.” “You all run off,” said the Spanish lad. “Why you think I should stay?” “You did the trick! You should have remained to make sure he was dead or alive, one or the other.” “Bah!” said the other. “If he is dead, it do no good to stay. If he is ’live, he come out of it after while, and I care not to be round. He no see who hit him. If he is ’live, I no want him to have some proof.” “You were a fool to strike so hard with that club!” “When I hate, I hate hard. When I strike, I strike hard.” “But you were a fool! Think of it! You killed him!” “Perhaps so, perhaps not.” “I know; I felt for his heart.” Stark was in a terrible state of mind, for murder was a thing to shake his nerves, even though it had not been meditated upon in advance. His brain seemed confused, and he could not decide on the proper course to pursue. The horror of the tragedy in the woods was on him, and he could not shake it off. Bunol managed to hold himself well in hand, and his nerve seemed wonderful, making him more repellent to Stark. “You killed him!” repeated Fred. “You may be hanged for it!” “Why? Nobody need know.” “Such things are bound to come out. Besides, why should we put ourselves in a bad box by shielding you? You—you alone are to blame!” “Ha!” cried Bunol derisively. “You say that? You? Why, you sent me to soak him! You dare to blow on me? Ha! You be in bad scrape, too!” Stark drew off from the fellow. The shadow of the gloomy woods was close at hand, and he turned from it. Several times he looked back, fearing to see a ghostly figure in pursuit. Bunol clung close to him. They had not proceeded far before two other forms rose from behind an old stone wall. Stark halted, his heart giving a leap, but one of the two called, and he recognized the voice of Hogan. Hogan and Crauthers were shivering. The cold night wind seemed to cut them to the bone. Their teeth chattered, and Crauthers seemed almost on the verge of collapse. “Fellows,” said Stark, “we were fools to run away like that. We should have stayed. Perhaps Arlington was not dead. He may lay there and die in the woods.”