A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Await me in the coach. You, Jack Sheppard, have nothing to fear, as you've become evidence against your accomplice.
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