Brice arose and listened for a minute then called out,
“Captain, I hear the sound of bare feet pattering on the highway.”
Jack was on his feet in an instant and ran down the walk to the gate in the high brick wall that surrounded the premises. He came running back almost immediately and said in low voice as he reached the piazza.
“There is a mob coming toward the house, along the road leading from the mountains. They carry torches and may mean mischief. Cousin John, will you have Burton called and will you please remain here to look after the women. Brice you and McLeod get cutlasses and bring me one also. We will meet the mob at the gate.”
“Oh! It is nothing Jack, maybe a negro frolic. No use arousing Burton,” said the elder Dunlap.
“If you please, sir, do as I ask. I will be prepared in any event,” said Jack Dunlap tersely.
“All right, Commander, the laugh will be at your expense,” cried the amused old gentleman as he ordered a servant to call Burton.
Jack and his two stalwart supporters had barely reached the gate when the advance guard of the savage horde of black mountaineers appeared before it. Instantly it flashed upon the mind of the skipper that if he barred the gate, that then part of the mob might go around and break over the wall in the rear of the house and attack the defenceless women.
“Throw open the gate, McLeod, we will meet them here,” commanded Captain Dunlap, and turning as some one touched his shoulder, he found Burton at his side, very pale and but half clad, with a revolver in his hand.