"Nat, where are you?" he called out.
"Here, down in a cistern! Help me out, or I'll be frozen to death."
Dave now reached the edge of the cistern. Two of the boards which had covered it had broken, letting Nat down quite unexpectedly. Fortunately there was only three feet of water in the cistern, so there was no fear of drowning. But the water was icy and far from agreeable.
As Dave leaned down to give Poole his hand, the door of the barn was flung open and a farmer strode in, a lantern in one hand and a stout stick in the other. The man held the light over his head and looked around suspiciously.
"Wot yeou fellers doin' here?" he demanded.
"Come here with the light—one of our party has fallen into the cistern!" cried Dave.
"Into the cistern, eh? Mebbe it serves him right. Ain't got no business in my barn," answered the farmer, as he came closer.
"We ran in because your dogs came after us," explained Roger.
"An' where did yeou come from? Ye don't belong around here, I know."
"We came from the train—it's off the track," said Dave. "But help us get this boy out first and then we'll explain."