After a little more conversation in the same strain, in which the third and fourth showed themselves to be of the same murderous mind, the rascals left the house, and made their way to the cover of Thurston Wood, to lie in wait for the doomed victim of their cupidity and malice. They knew that the old farmer rode on a grey pony, and when the shadows of night gathered round, and the town clock of Kesterton struck nine, they took their station by the roadside, under the shade of a large hawthorn hedge, and waited for the chance of carrying out their wicked intent. By and bye, footsteps were heard approaching. Somebody was walking on the high road, whose steps as they neared the shelter of the robbers were suddenly silent, as if the new-comer had stood still. After a few moments’ pause, Bill Buckley stepped from his hiding-place to reconnoitre, and came suddenly in contact with Black Morris, who had not stood still, as they imagined, but had merely transferred his walk to the grassy border of the road, and hence had come upon them unobserved. “Hallo, Bill!” said Black Morris, “what in the world are you after?” He would gladly have passed them without further parley, for, thanks to Mr. Clayton, his thoughts and feelings had taken quite a new direction. His collision with Bill Buckley, however, had made that impossible. “Stow thy clapper, old chum,” was the response of Buckley, and leading him to his three comrades, he said, “here, lads, we’ve gotten a bit o’ help.” He proceeded to tell him their nefarious plans, and assumed that he would willingly coincide. “Not I,” said Black Morris; “Kasper Crabtree’s done me no harm, an’ I’ll bring no harm to him.” Breaking from them he proceeded on his way, resolved to warn the purposed victim of the fate in store for him. Swearing a dreadful oath, his features black with rage, Buckley seized him. “Stow that,” said he; “you shan’t stir ’til we’ve gotten what we want.” Holding him in his giant grip, he said, “Thoo shall see it oot, an’ then thoo can’t split on us.” At that moment the little grey pony was seen ambling on the road, with old Crabtree on his back. The three ruffians sprang out, seized the pony, and dragged the old man down. He fell with a heavy thud on the ground; his pockets were rifled, and as the victim shouted for help, Spink struck him a cruel blow. Black Morris, roused to the utmost pitch of indignation, broke from his muscular jailer, and ran to the aid of the prostrate farmer. Leaning over him, his eyes met those of the wounded man. “Black Morris, I know you!” said Crabtree, and instantly fainted away.