Reaching the foot of the descent, the stream had scarce more water in its bed than the Little Sandy at its best; and wearied by my walk, I determined to cross the valley and so shorten the distance I would otherwise have to go. Looking to determine the course I should take, the plain lay spread before me, and midway in its breadth a grove of walnut trees lifted their graceful foliage to the sky, standing out black and clear against the pale grasses of the sleeping valley. Cheered by the sight, for there is no tree more attractive to the eye, its rich fruit bringing it nearer to us in sympathy of life, I went forward in high spirits, stopping as I crossed the little river to drink my fill and bathe my face in its refreshing waters. Coming presently to the grove of trees, I plunged beneath their depths, to emerge a moment after in a cleared space, on the edge of which a log hut, charred by fire, stood in lonely seclusion. About it, and as if in mockery, rank weeds grew where once a garden had been planted. Wondering why such a spot should have been selected for a home, I went forward, and turning the angle of the ruin, came without thought upon a towering gibbet, from which ropes, frayed with the wind, dangled in the midnight air. Beneath these, and as if to make the story plainer, rude graves lifted their rounded forms in the bright moonlight. Recoiling at the sight, I had nearly fallen; but with my discovery, and as if the spirits of the dead were returned to earth, voices reached me, and seemingly from the shadow of the gallows and its dangling ropes. Questioning if I heard aright and hesitating whether to go forward or turn and fly, the voices came a second time, and now more plainly than before. In doubt of their friendliness, I threw myself down where I stood, and in that way was hidden by the weeds and the shadow of the crumbling ruin. Thus concealed, I was safe, unless, indeed, the course of the speakers crossed the spot where I lay hidden; but coming presently full on the gibbet, they stopped, one of them crying out in a voice of terror: "In the name of all the spirits of hell, what’s them?" "What’s what?" the other answered, softly, as if seeing nothing out of the way. "Them graves an’ danglin’ ropes?" "Why, what about them?" "Are they real, or is’t the phantoms comin’ on agin?" At this I recognized Blott’s voice, now no longer whimsical, but constrained and full of fear. Greatly relieved, I rose to call his name, but doing so, discovered his companion to be the gambler Burke, who had robbed Mr. Singleton and afterward sought to murder Mr. Davis. Seeing him, I dropped down again, trembling and full of fear, for what could Blott be doing here, and in such company! Surely nothing good! And with the thought I hid myself more securely in the shadow of the abandoned hut. "What is the matter, Blott?" the other replied, as if surprised. "Has liquor got the better of you again, or what is it that frightens you?"