The news of this, Will’s latest exploit, spread among the village boys, and reached Steve’s ears. This worthy felt sorry for Will—so sorry that a bright idea struck him.
“Here’s a fine chance to show Will how much I think of him!” he mused radiantly. “Yes, I’ll get a whole gang of us boys together, and we’ll swoop down on the old villain, and we’ll do it! Oh! what roaring fun it will be! I guess it’ll teach the old loon to leave honest boys alone!”
Steve began to work with a will, and soon mustered a squad of idle and saucy little wretches, who sported Guy Fawkes’ head-pieces, and were not overstocked with either virtue or clothing. Nevertheless, their apparel had at least one merit—it could be slipped on or stripped off in a trice.
Moonlight would be too bright for his dark schemes, and he waited impatiently for a starlight night. Three days passed with unheard of slowness. Then Steve convoked a council of his satellites; and after having enjoined a promise of secrecy, he laid bare his plot in all its details, and asked if they would stand by him.
“Guess we will!” they chorused, mad with delight; and Steve needed no further assurance of their co-operation and fidelity.
About seven o’clock this worthy young avenger set out, his “gang” at his heels, and one of the heroes who had seen Will taken over Jackson’s fence bringing up the rear. This warlike company had no drums, but their fast-beating hearts served instead; and they marched intrepidly onward, measuring three miles an hour. Some were burdened with sundry stout cords, ropes and straps; others were sweating under armfuls of pine and cedar boughs, which Steve had gathered that afternoon; one lank stripling was poising a couple of wooden levers on his grimy palms; Stephen himself was freighted with a clumsy engine, which he fondly imagined was a piece of wondrous mechanism—in fact, one of the six mechanical powers.
Having left the village, they struck out for a pasturage about a mile and a half to the right. Captain Stephen directed his forces to march in single file. In vain: they were but raw levies, and in spite of all his discipline, would persist in straggling or in huddling together. But in good time they drew up at the seat of war, with every regiment intact, and eager to engage the enemy.
As the atrocities they practiced there are unworthy of the most abandoned renegate, it would be more seemly to lay aside martial idioms,—particularly, as we do not wish to commit ourself,—and speak of them as Steve’s minions.
They peered warily—perhaps, quakingly—to the right and left, but not seeing any bugbears, human or otherwise, they boldly and jauntily flung themselves over the fence of the pasture field.
Steve advanced a few steps, then halted, laid his burden gently on the ground, and whistled a sigh of relief. His followers threw down their burdens; and, after having ejected a great deal of spittle—purposely on their hands, accidently on the ground,—they raised a grating “ye-oh-heave ’er,” that reminded the “mournful whip-poor-will” of a rooster’s first crow. Now they were ready to go to work.