"Where can the darned thing be?" asked one of the men, stooping down, and apparently searching for something along the grass. "Who of ye remembers the spot?" "A little farther out, I think," answered a voice that caused Lena Rook to start, and take hold of Pierre's hand. "About here. Yes, here it is. I can feel the lumps upon the turf." The speaker appeared to be groping the ground with his feet. "Alf Brandon!" whispered the girl, with her lips close to her companion's ear. The others gathered around the spot indicated by Brandon. Two who carried spades commenced digging, while a like number of shovel-men followed, throwing out the loose earth. "Wonder how deep the old skunk has buried him?" asked one. "Not very deep, I reck'n. Jerry Rook's too lazy to a dug far down. We'll soon come to it." These were the voices of Bill Buck and Slaughter, the hotel-keeper, recognised by Lena Rook, though not by her companion. "Do you think there's a coffin?" inquired one who had not yet spoken. It was Spence. "No," answered another new speaker, recognised as Lawyer Randall, "I should say not. The old squatter wasn't likely to take that trouble for such a creature as Choc, and, as the fellow had no other friends, I think you'll find him in his deerskin shirt--that is, if Jerry harn't taken the pains to strip him." "The shirt wasn't worth it," remarked a sixth speaker, who was the store-keeper, Grubbs. "The six who hanged you, Pierre!" whispered the girl to him by her side. "The very same!" Pierre made no reply. He was too much occupied in endeavouring to interpret the strange talk, and comprehend the singular scene passing before him. "It's getting hard down here," said one of the spadesmen. "Seems to me I've touched bottom." "Old Jerry must have tramped him tight down," remarked another, adding a slight laugh. "Don't speak so loud, boys!" commanded Brandon. "Look at the house, 'tisn't twenty yards off, and there's a weasel in it that seldom sleeps. If we're heard, you know what'll follow. Keep silent, it may save each of you a hundred dollars a-year." At this appeal the diggers turned their eyes towards the house; but only to give a cursory glance, and back to the ground again. Lena Rook looked longer in that direction, for there was the man she most feared--her father. Intimately acquainted with the precincts of the dwelling, and, of course, better able to tell if anything was stirring, she saw--what had escaped the notice of the body-stealers--the front door standing open! It should have been shut; for, on coming out, she had carefully closed it behind her!