“Come, then; but come very silently, though there is not the slightest danger, either, of our being heard. The farmer is a beer swiller, and sleeps heavily, and his women folks all sleep up in the garret. I saw them all go up myself; they passed with their candle, as I lay on the pallet,” whispered Munson, as he quietly led the way out into the hall and softly closed and locked the door, and withdrew the key.
“It is just as well to do this, to guard against the chance of any one opening the door while I am gone,” he added, as he softly preceded the party down the stairs.
He silently opened the front door, and they passed out into the free air.
A watch-dog that lay upon the mat outside got up and wagged his tail, and laid down again, as if to express his willingness that any inmate might leave the house who wished to do so, though no stranger should enter it except over his dead body.
“Sensible dog!” said Munson, as with more precaution he closed and locked the outer door, and took that key also with him.
“You must not attempt to escape with your wagon; but must ride your horses, which will be much more efficacious both for swiftness and for their ability to go through places where you could not take a wagon,” said Munson, as they walked across the farm-yard.
But when they drew near the stable, they were set upon by a couple of watch-dogs, who, barking furiously, barred their farther progress.
“There is no other way!” exclaimed Munson, and drawing a double barrelled pistol from his pocket, he shot one dog dead, while the other ran howling away.
Then with some difficulty they forced the door, and while Lyon remained on the outside with Sybil, young Munson entered the stable and led out their two horses.
“Here are several bridles, and here is one side-saddle, which will suit Mrs. Berners, if you have no scruple about borrowing them,” suggested Munson.