Instead of riding onward, however, he spurred his horse, and leaped hedge after hedge, until he returned to the farm again in less than ten minutes.
He tied his horse to a tree in the orchard, and quietly approached the back door of the farm-house again.
All was darkness save a ray of light which issued from the farmer’s chamber.
Not a sound was heard except the mournful sighing of keen December night winds among the leafless trees.
Now and then, ’tis true, watch dogs shook their chains, and howled most dolefully and dismally, in tones unnatural, ominous and death-like.
Silently and softly did Bolton approach the house.
“He is alone,” he thought, “and too weak to leave his chamber. Now is my time, while all are away. His treasure must be mine!”
He tried the back door.
It was locked!
“It was not locked when I left,” the villain thought.