hush fell upon all, though the voices of those without sounded as loud and turbulent as ever. “What is it, Hiram?” said Squire Hall at last.
Then for the first time Hiram spoke, panting thickly. “It’s a bloody murderer,” said he, pointing a quivering finger at the motionless figure.
“Here, some of you!” called out the Squire. “Come! Untie this man! Who is he?” A dozen willing fingers quickly unknotted the rope and the bag was slipped from the head and body.
Hair and face and eyebrows and clothes were powdered with meal, but, in spite of all and through all the innocent whiteness, dark spots and blotches and smears of blood showed upon head and arm and shirt. Levi raised himself upon his elbow and looked scowlingly around at the amazed, wonderstruck faces surrounding him.
“Why, it’s Levi West!” croaked the Squire, at last finding his voice.
Then, suddenly, Lieutenant Maynard pushed forward, before the others crowded around the figure on the floor, and, clutching Levi by the hair, dragged his head backward so as to better see his face. “Levi West!” said he in a loud voice. “Is this the Levi West you’ve been telling me of? Look at that scar and the mark on his cheek! This is Blueskin himself.”
XIV
In the chest which Blueskin had dug up out of the sand were found not only the goldsmiths’ bills taken from the packet, but also many other valuables belonging to the officers and the passengers of the unfortunate ship.
The New York agents offered Hiram a handsome reward for his efforts in recovering the lost bills, but Hiram declined it, positively and finally. “All I want,” said he, in his usual dull, stolid fashion, “is to have folks know I’m honest.” Nevertheless,
