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“Pieces of Eight”

           Withthistohelpme,Ipassedrapidlyoverwhatremainedtomeofmyjourney,andsometimeswalking,sometimesrunning,impatientlydrewneartothestockade.Yet,asIbegantothreadthegrovethatliesbeforeit,IwasnotsothoughtlessbutthatIslackedmypaceandwentatriflewarily.Itwouldhavebeenapoorendofmyadventurestogetshotdownbymyownpartyinmistake.

           Themoonwasclimbinghigherandhigher,itslightbegantofallhereandthereinmassesthroughthemoreopendistrictsofthewood,andrightinfrontofmeaglowofadifferentcolourappearedamongthetrees.Itwasredandhot,andnowandagainitwasalittledarkenedasitwere,theembersofabonfiresmouldering.

           ForthelifeofmeIcouldnotthinkwhatitmightbe.

           AtlastIcamerightdownuponthebordersoftheclearing.Thewesternendwasalreadysteepedinmoon-shine;therest,andtheblockhouseitself,stilllayinablackshadowchequeredwithlongsilverystreaksoflight.Ontheothersideofthehouseanimmensefirehadburneditselfintoclearembersandshedasteady,redreverberation,contrastedstronglywiththemellowpalenessofthemoon.Therewasnotasoulstirringnorasoundbesidethenoisesofthebreeze.

           Istopped,withmuchwonderinmyheart,andperhapsalittleterroralso.Ithadnotbeenourwaytobuildgreatfires;wewere,indeed,bythecaptain’sorders,somewhatniggardlyoffirewood,andIbegantofearthatsomethinghadgonewrongwhileIwasabsent.

           Istoleroundbytheeasternend,keepingcloseinshadow,andataconvenientplace,wherethedarknesswasthickest,crossedthepalisade.

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Roboto Lora
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