Sergeant Bradridge smoked his tobacco, thought of his twenty pounds, of his salmon, and of his high position in the world.

"Some," he reflected, "might say that Tom there would never have seen yonder poor chap but for they two ten-pound notes. But old Kekewich knowed better. \'Tis merely a momentum. Give me an old man if you want an understanding man."

Nobody had ever before presented the soldier with twenty pounds, and the sensation was not only pleasant, but tended to the increase of self-respect. His days had been uneventful, and albeit an admirable officer, accident kept him at home despite the stirring times. He was a great recruiter, and had sent many a lad to the wars, though never himself had he heard a shot fired in anger. The hour was at hand when he would do so; and that in his own mother-county of Devon. Now he thought upon his wife and family, and then concerning the prisoner. Heartily he regretted John Lee\'s fate, but knew no way to mend it.

Meantime the doomed man and Putt conversed with earnestness. Their talk was of a practical nature, and they wasted not a moment in vain sorrow.

Tom told his friend the news and the solemn promise that Grace Malherb had given to Norcot.

"No man can save me if I won\'t be saved," said John. "It only makes death easier to know what hangs upon it."

"We\'ve got but minutes," answered the other; "an\' \'tis a fool\'s trick to die if you can live. Dead, you\'re no good to none but worms and body-snatchers; alive, you can\'t tell what might come along. You\'ve got to get out of this coil without Norcot\'s help; then she\'s free again. \'Twas only if he freed you—not if you freed yourself."

"\'Tis beyond human power."

"\'Tis as easy as eating. D\'you see that cart full of muck? Behind the tail-board there\'s a place scraped out big enough to hold you. An\' there\'s a knot-hole in the bottom of the cart where you can put your mouth so you won\'t be choked. \'Twill be a thought foul, but better\'n a rope. Here\'s a file for them bracelets presently. Wait a moment and watch."

Putt went across to the cart and opened the tail-board, behind which a space had been scooped in the farmyard stuff. Then he took a bundle of the dirty straw, rolled it into a ball, and returned to John Lee.

"\'Tis a matter of moments now," he said. "Yonder chap, pretending to be asleep under the trees, only waits for you to slip in the cart; then he\'ll cover you up deep and set off through Dean Wood."

While he spoke Tom rolled his ball of straw into the shape of a head and stuck it upon his stick. Next he watched his uncle through the grass, and when Bradridge had turned away for a moment to speak to a soldier, John Lee\'s hat was thrust upon the dummy, while John himself slipped down the bank. Tom Putt\'s uncle, from his standpoint, still supposed that he saw the condemned man\'s head, and his nephew talking earnestly beside the prisoner; but in reality John was already under a mass of hot ordure behind the tail-board of the cart; and a moment later the vehicle took its lumbering way among the soldiers. It crept through the little camp, then ascended a hill upon the driver\'s left hand, and slowly disappeared from view in the direction of Dean Wood.

Meantime Putt sat by John Lee\'s hat on the stick and watched his uncle. The precious minutes passed until at last Sergeant Bradridge looked at his watch again, rose, and knocked the burning tobacco from his pipe.

Thereupon Thomas played his part. He removed Lee\'s hat and flung it into the river, where it floated fast down stream; he then struck himself a formidable blow on the side of the face with his stick, and shouting with all his might, himself leapt down into the water. It took him to his middle, and he waded deeper.

"Help, help, Uncle Sep! Help, sojers! Help; you\'ll never hang him, for he\'ll drown ............