“Yes, sir,” answered Tim; “here they are, sir; but I had to ride for my dear life like the devil.” “What does the lad mean?” the knight asked. “Surely he is not crazy? Sit down and compose yourself.” “Well, sir,” said Tim, “directly I got the letters I started back home again; but as I was trotting along I saw a man on horseback waiting for me; he looked like a highway robber, so I turns my horse down another road to get out of his way.” “Well, what then?” “I hadn’t gone far, sir, and was just passing the Red Man’s gibbet, as they calls it, at the cross roads, when the wind began to howl and cry like so many living voices.” “You were not afraid of all that, I hope?” “No, sir, but the vultures were flying about the gibbet, and their eyes sparkled in the moonlight like so many coals of fire.” “Well?” “I didn’t care much about that, but when I got fairly under the gibbet, and was about to pass by, I looked up, and I saw the Red Man’s eyes glaring on me, and he seemed to shake himself, for his chains rattled awfully.” “Nonsense! he has been dead this many a-year; it was all fancy, Tim,” said Wildfire Ned, chuckling. “No, it wasn’t, sir, all due respect to you, sir; he was alive.” “Alive?” “Aye, gentlemen, alive; I could swear it as sure as I live.” “You were timorous, that is all, and fancied so.” “No, Sir Richard, I never was so brave in all my life, although I felt my blood run cold. _It spoke to me._” “Spoke to you?” “Yes sir.” “What did it say?” “‘Halt!’ it shouted, and on the instant my horse stopped, and would not budge an inch. ‘Halt!’ it said, in awful tones, glaring down on me with its fiery eyes. ‘I am one of the Skeleton Crew,’ it said; ‘go, tell your master that Farmer Bertram is murdered!’” “Dead?” “Murdered?” said several in surprise. “When did this foul deed take place?” asked the old knight. “‘Murdered last night,’ said the Red Man from the gibbet, ‘as the Darlington village clock tolled the hour of one! Ha! ha! the Skeleton Crew still lives, and rules the seas, and will long defy the power of man. Fly from this spot, or become one of the dead!’” “This is a most horrible revelation,” said the old knight. “I did not stop to hear more, for I shouted with fright, and galloped madly away, feeling as if frozen to the very marrow, for _I had spoken with the dead_!” Tiny Tim looked exhausted, and shivered in every limb. He could not proceed with his story very quickly, for his teeth chattered again. “Give the lad a stiff glass of brandy, Ned,” said the kind-hearted knight. Ned did so; a _very_ “stiff” one indeed, it was, which made the groom’s eyes twinkle again. The one-legged sailor was treated in like manner, when Tim continued—