Part 16 (1/2)

”But a few of the chief men _were_ mounted, Paul.”

”Pooh! that's nothing. Chief men won't come on without the or'nary men.

It needs or'nary men, you know, to make chief 'uns. Ha! ha! Come, now, if you can't hold your tongue, try to speak and eat at the same time.”

Thus encouraged, Fred set to work on some bread and cheese and coffee with all the _gusto_ of a starving man, and, at broken intervals, blurted out all he knew and thought about the movements of the robber band, as well as his own journey and his parting with Brixton.

”'Tis a pity, an' strange, too, that he was so obstinate,” observed Paul.

”But he thought he was right” said Betty; and then she blushed with vexation at having been led by impulse even to appear to justify her lover. But Paul took no notice.

”It matters not,” said he, ”for it happens that you have found us almost on the wing, Westly. I knew full well that this fellow Buxley--”

”They call him Stalker, if you mean the robber chief” interrupted Fred.

”Pooh! Did you ever hear of a robber chief without half a dozen aliases?” rejoined Paul. ”This Buxley, havin' found out my quarters, will never rest till he kills me; so as I've no fancy to leave my little Betty in an unprotected state yet a while, we have packed up our goods and chattels--they ain't much to speak of--and intend to leave the old place this very night. Your friend Stalker won't attack till night--I know the villain well--but your news inclines me to set off a little sooner than I intended. So, what you have got to do is to lie down an'

rest while Betty and I get the horse an' cart ready. We've got a spare horse, which you're welcome to. We sent little Tolly Trevor off to Briant's Gulch to buy a pony for my little la.s.s. He should have been back by this time if he succeeded in gettin' it.”

”But where do you mean to go to?” asked Fred.

”To Simpson's Gully.”

”Why, that's where Tom and I were bound for when we fell in with Stalker and his band! We shall probably meet Tom returning. But the road is horrible--indeed there is no road at all, and I don't think a cart could--”

”Oh! I know that” interrupted Paul, ”and have no intention of smas.h.i.+ng up my cart in the woods. We shall go round by the plains, lad. It is somewhat longer, no doubt, but once away, we shall be able to laugh at men on foot if they are so foolish as to follow us. Come now, Betty, stir your stumps and finish your packing. I'll go get the--”

A peculiar yell rent the air outside at that moment, cutting short the sentence, and almost petrifying the speaker, who sprang up and began frantically to bar the door and windows of the hut, at the same time growling, ”They've come sooner than I expected. Who'd have thought it!

Bar the small window at the back, Betty, an' then fetch all the weapons.

I was so taken up wi' you, Fred, that I forgot to haul back the plank; that's how they've got over. Help wi' this table--so--they'll have some trouble to batter in the door wi' that agin it, an' I've a flankin'

battery at the east corner to prevent them settin' the place on fire.”

While the man spoke he acted with violent haste. Fred sprang up and a.s.sisted him, for the shock--coupled, no doubt, with the hot coffee and bread and cheese--had restored his energies, at least for the time, almost as effectually as if he had had a rest.

They were only just in time, for at that moment a man ran with a wild shout against the door. Finding it fast, he kept thundering against it with his heavy boots, and shouting Paul Bevan's name in unusually fierce tones.

”Are ye there?” he demanded at last and stopped to listen.

”If you'll make less noise mayhap ye'll find out” growled Paul.

”Och! Paul, dear, open av ye love me,” entreated the visitor, in a voice there was no mistaking.

”I do believe it's my mate Flinders!” said Fred.

Paul said nothing, but proved himself to be of the same opinion by hastily unbarring and opening the door, when in burst the irrepressible Flinders, wet from head to foot, splashed all over with mud and blood, and panting like a race-horse.

”Is that--tay ye've got there--my dear?” he asked in gasps.

”No, it is coffee. Let me give you some.”

”Thank 'ee kindly--fill it up--my dear. Here's wis.h.i.+n'--ye all luck!”

Paddy drained the cup to the dregs, wiped his mouth on the cuff of his coat, and thus delivered himself--