Explore "John Burnet of Barns" by John Buchan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I lay there, still with fright and anxiety, while the wind roared around my hiding-place, and the noise of the horses' feet came to my ears. My first thought was to rush out and meet them, engage the company and get the letter back by force. But a moment's reflection convinced me that this was equal to rushing on my death. There was nothing for it but to bide where I was, and pray that I might not be discovered.
The noise grew louder, and the harsh voices of the men echoed in the little glen. I lay sweating with fear and I know not what foreboding, as I heard the clatter of hooves among the slates and the heavy tread of those who had dismounted and were searching every tuft of heather. I know not to this day how I escaped. It may be that their eyes were blinded with mist and rain; it may be that my hiding-place was securer than I thought, for God knows I had no time to choose it; it may be that their search was but perfunctory, since they had got the letter; it may be that they thought in their hearts that I had escaped ever the back of Caerdon and searched only to satisfy their leader. At any rate, in a little all was still, save for the sound of distant voices, and with vast caution and great stiffness of body I drew myself from the hole.