"Righto! We'll slip into Pullar's yard about twelve. So long."
There was no more. The men had passed on. Jean lingered. He had not caught the full significance of the brief dialogue, for he could not hear every word and the English troubled him in places. He pieced enough together, however, to conclude that some foul work was meditated against Ned. He held his counsel and rushed through preparations for departure. As he took the South Cut in his descent into the Valley he saw a light in the Grant home. So agitated had he become in his review of the incident in the village that he decided to lay the matter before Charles Grant.
The farmer was in bed, but at his knock a light step tripped down the stairs and Margaret opened the door. She invited him in. Grant was promptly aroused and evidenced serious perturbation at Jean's story.
"I am afraid there is some devilment afoot," was his comment. "You say there may be a big gang at work?"
"Wan, two, tree, four! Mebbe other! I do not know. I tink many."
"Can it be an attempt to steal Mr. Pullar's new wheat?" ventured Margaret. "Mary has been telling me so much about it. I saw her to-day. Ned and his father have gone into the City at the call of John T. C. Norrgrene."
"It may be that, lass," agreed her father. "Jean's tale points that way."
"They are after The Red Knight!" said Margaret with intuitive conviction. "It is a terrible night. What can poor old Dad Blackford do against a gang of daring thieves?"
"We'll take a hand in it ourselves," said Grant grimly. "Jean, you take the south trail and let Easy Murphy know. I'll dress and pick up Lawrie and——"
"I'll saddle Flash, Dad," interrupted Margaret. "I'm all ready. I can ride over and let Andy know."