The descent of the gully was broken, some eight feet below us, by a small ledge, sloping outward about six feet (as I guess), and screen’d by branches of the wild tamarisk. At the back, in an angle of the solid rock, was now set a pan pierced with holes, and full of burning charcoal: and over this a man in the rebels’ uniform was stooping. He had a small paper parcel in his left hand, and was blowing at the charcoal with all his might. Holding my breath, I heard him clearly, but could see nothing of his face, for his back was toward us, all sable against the glow. The charcoal fumes as they rose chok’d me so, that I was very near a fit of coughing, when Billy laid one hand on my shoulder, and with the other pointed out to seaward. Looking that way, I saw a small light shining on the sea, pretty close in. ’Twas a lantern hung out from the sloop, as I concluded on the instant: and now I began to have an inkling of what was toward. But looking down again at the man with the charcoal pan I saw a black head of hair lifted, and then a pair of red puff’d cheeks, and a pimpled nose with a scar across the bridge of it—all shining in the glare of the pan. “Powers of Heaven!” I gasped; “’tis that bloody villain Luke Settle!” And springing to my feet, I took a jump over the edge and came sprawling on top of him. The scoundrel was stooping with his nose close to the pan, and had not time to turn before I lit with a thud on his shoulders, flattening him on the ledge and nearly sending his face on top of the live coal. ’Twas so sudden that, before he could so much as think, my fingers were about his windpipe, and the both of us struggling flat on the brink of the precipice. For he had a bull’s strength, and heaved and kicked, so that I fully looked, next moment, to be flying over the edge into the sea: nor could I loose my grip to get out a pistol, but only held on and worked my fingers in, and thought how he had strangled the mastiff that night on the bowling-green, and vowed to serve him the same if only strength held out. But now, just as he had almost twisted his neck free, I heard a stone or two break away above us, and down came Billy Pottery flying atop of us, and pinned us to the ledge. ’Twas short work now. Within a minute, Captain Luke Settle was turned on his back, his eyes fairly starting with Billy’s clutch on his throat, his mouth wide open and gasping; till I slipp’d the nozzle of my pistol between his teeth; and with that he had no more chance, but gave in, and like a lamb submitted to have his arms truss’d behind him with Billy’s leathern belt, and his legs with his own. “Now,” said I, standing over him, and putting the pistol against his temple, “you and I, Master Turncoat Settle, have some accounts that ’twould be well to square. So first tell me, what do you here, and where is Mistress Delia Killigrew?”