Roger made his dispositions precisely as before, save that he now loaded each of his guns with ball, and again met his visitors at the gate.
"Don't fire, that's a dear man!" cried a voice through the bars; and Roger wondered; for it belonged to a young yeoman from St. Keverne, and its tone was friendly.
"Hey, Trevarthen? What brings you here?" he demanded.
"Goodwill to help ye, if you're not above taking it. You've been served like a dog, Stephen; but we'll stand by you, though we go to Launceston jail for it. Open the gate, like a good man."
"You'll swear 'tis no trick you're playing?"
"If we mean aught but neighbourliness, may our bones rot inside of us!" Trevarthen took oath.
Roger opened the padlock and loosened the chain. "I take this very kind of you, friends," he said slowly.
"Why, man, 'tis but the beginning!" the cheerful Trevarthen assured him. "Once we've made the start, you'll find the whole country trooping in; it but wants the signal. Lift your hand, and by nightfall you can have fivescore men at your back: ay, and I'm thinking you'll need 'em; for Sandercock went back no farther than Nansclowan, and there he'll be getting the ear of Sir John, that arrived down from London but yesterday."
"Right's right," growled Roger, "and not even Sir John can alter it."
"Ay, and he won't try nor wish to, if we stand to you and put a firm face on it. But in dealing with Sandercock he deals with the law, and must point to something stronger than you can be, standing here alone. Trust Sir John: he's your friend, and the stouter show we make the more we help him to prove it."