"Oh! spare my life, good captain, and I'll tell ye whaur the P--p--p----." Pensassenach is hid, were the words that the villain would have uttered, but they were arrested by the ready hand of John Smith, who sprang upon him with the pounce of an eagle, and clutched him up as that noble bird might clutch up a rat, his left arm being half round his middle, and his right hand griping his throat, in such a manner as to stop all utterance, and nearly to choke him. "Ta tamm scounrel would fain puy her life for tellin' her fare her pack is," said John, laughing heartily. "But she need na mak' nae siccan pargains wi' her, for her nane sell saw her hide it under a perry-puss in ta kail-yaird, and a rich pack it is, she kens tat weel eneugh. See, captain, tats ta way till ta yaird, an' Shon Smiss 'ill tak cair o' tis chiel, and pit her past tooin' ony mair harms, she'll swarrants tat." Off went the captain and those about him, greedy upon the scent of the pack, and caring little what became of its owner. John called to Morag to bring him a sack and some bits of rope, and he had no sooner got them under one arm than he ran off with the sprawling Mr. Dallas under the other, who, having his wind-pipe still tightened by the fearful grasp of him who bore him, was now kicking in the agonies of death. John dived through among some peat-stalks, and so managed to get clear off without observation, to the side of a deep pond or pool, in a retired spot, where the Pensassenach was wont to steep her flax.--There laying his, by this time, semianimate burden at length upon the brink, he put some heavy stones into the bottom of the sack, and then began to draw it on, like an under-garment, over the limbs of the unfortunate Mr. Dallas, inserting his arms therein, and tying the mouth of it tight round his neck, just as if he had been preparing him for running in a sack race, though it must be premised, that for such a purpose the heavy stones might have been well eneugh left out of the bottom of the sack. "Hae mercy on my sowl, Maister Smith,--ye're no gawin' till droon me!" groaned out Mr. Dallas, in a faint, hollow, and semi-suffocated voice. "Oh, mercy! mercy! what a horrible death! I'm no fit till dee, Maister Smith. I've been a horrible sinner. God forgee me for cheating the puir fowk! Oh, hae mercy, Maister Smith--mercy!--mercy!--for I'm no fit till dee." "She no be gawn till mak' her dee," said John, coolly, "though she wad pe weel wordy o't. But she only be gawn ta hide her in ta watter tat ta Hillantmen mayna hangit her." "Hide me in the water? and is na that droonin'?" cried the terrified wretch. "Oh, mercy! mercy!"