In the meantime, the man sat down at the other side of the fire, where the child was sleeping, and (he had taken some of the brandy and was less rough and more communicative now) began to talk about the snow-storm, the probable loss of sheep it would cause, and the similar visitations of former years. In about a quarter of an hour, the woman came to the door of the other room and called him to her. He went; and, for several minutes after, I heard them conversing in low, eager tones. Their words I could not catch; but the woman seemed to be vehemently urging something upon her companion, whilst his answers were brief and hesitating. Gradually, the voices grew confused—a drowsy feeling crept over me—and I remembered no more. Whether one minute or an hour had passed I knew not, when a heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, and a hoarse voice sounded in my ear:
“Come, friend, you’re tired, I see; you had better throw yourself on the bed inside, and sleep till morning.”
I started up, and was soon recalled to perfect consciousness by the sharp pain of my broken arm. The man was standing beside me.
“My wife has shaken out the straw,” he said, “as softly as possible; and I mistake if, after to-night’s tramp, you don’t find it as pleasant as a bed of down. But take this by way of a night-cap before you go.”
I drank the brandy, and, muttering a few words of thanks, was turning away, when he stopped me.
“See,” he said, “you are forgetting your pistol. You had better take it with you.”
I did so, and, bidding them good night, went into the other room. My bed was a heap of straw covered with a piece of coarse sacking; but, had it been of choicest feathers, it could not have been more welcome then. I stretched myself upon it, and was soon fast asleep. But sleep brought with it confused and distressing dreams, with which the glare of those wild, hungry eyes was strangely mingled: I awoke with a sense of pain intolerable, and found that I had turned over on my left side, pressing my wounded arm under me. How long I had been sleeping, of course, I could not tell; but the first sound that fell upon my ear was the confused murmur of voices from the other room. Immediately the voices grew more distinct, and some words reached me that speedily brought me to a terrible consciousness of my position. One of those words was “gold”; and, at the sound, my hand searched for the bag: it was there safe. With a grim terror at my heart, I rose and crept toward the door. Through a chink between the shrunken boards I could see the man and woman seated at the fire. The latter, whose face was almost completely turned towards me, sat with her elbows on her knees—and her chin resting on her palms. Those eyes of hers were fixed upon the man, and they glowed with a hellish fire. I sickened at the look of that face, so handsome, so delicate, so fiend-like. The man was speaking at the moment; and as the sound of his voice drew my eyes towards him, I beheld beside him an object that made my blood run cold—a large, shining hatchet or cleaver.
“I can’t help it, lass,” he was saying; “I don’t like the job; and I wish the thing could be done some other way. About taking the gold I’m not particular to a hair, and in a downright tussle I shouldn’t much mind knocking a fellow on the head. But to murder a man in his sleep—dang me, but it goes against my kidney.”
“But those beautiful golden coins, Bill dear,” the tempting fiend rejoined; “the lovely gold that would take us out of this hell at once. What is one miserable life compared to that? And who will know about it? The snow-storm is most lucky. We can put him deep down beneath the piled-up snow in one of those holes outside, and we shall be many a hundred miles from this,—ay, across the Atlantic itself—before any trace of him is found.”
How my blood curdled and my hair grew stiff with horror, as I listened to the words of this female devil, and watched the gorgon-like glance of her eye, and the hideous smile that curled her lips. I have been in deadly peril of life and limb in more than one fierce fight, as these medals show. I remember once when the knife of a gigantic Kaffir was at my throat, and I thought all was over with me, till a comrade’s rifle brought that savage down. But never, in deadliest hour of danger, did I feel anything like the sickly terror and loathing which crept round my heart as I listened that night to the murderous words that woman uttered.
“It’s all the same,” replied her companion—“’tisn’t the danger of discovery I’m afraid of. ’Tis the job itself I don’t like: the murder of a sleeping man in cold blood—iph!”
With fury flashing from her eyes she sprang to her feet and seized the hatchet.
“Coward and fool!” she hissed, “do you call yourself a man? You see your wife and child starving before your eyes, and you have not the manhood to do the deed which will save them from the death of dogs. I will do it, myself.”
“Easy, lass,” he said, catching her by the wrist, and drawing her back to her seat again. “You’re a plucky girl, Sal, but d’ye think I’d let a woman do what I had not the courage to attempt myself? I told you I did not like the job: I had rather get at the money any other way; but I didn’t tell you that I wouldn’t do it. Sit you down, and let’s talk it over. The chap is fast asleep now—the fatigue and the brandy have done for him, and you can hear him moaning as he sleeps. This ugly bit of steel may be useless, after all. A cloth upon his mouth and my hand upon his windpipe may be enough. There will be no signs of blood; and when they do find him after the snow melts, they will say he perished in the storm.”
“Now, Bill,” said the woman, with a horrid show of admiration, “you talk like a man, and a wise one. I begin to know you again.”
“Well, lass,” he said, “consider the thing as done. Just give me the bottle.”
He took it, raised it to his lips, and drank a deep draught. With trembling hand I felt up the door for bolt or lock. There was a wooden bolt only. Gently and silently I pushed it home, then crept back to my bed and searched for my pistol, resolved to sell my life dearly. I got the pistol,