“Hold! on your lives!” exclaimed Lyon Berners, rushing between the opponents, and with swift hands striking up the pistol of Robert Munson, and turning aside the musket of Farmer Nye. “Would you shed each other’s blood so recklessly? Here is some mistake. Farmer, whom did you take us for?”
“Who did I take you for, is it? For that cornsarned band of robbers as have been mislesting the country for miles round this month past.”
“Robbers?”
“Yes, robbers! as has been tarryfying the whole country side ever since Hollow Eve!”
“I never heard of them.”
“May be you didn’t, but I took you for them all the same.”
“And aimed your musket at that lady! And might have shot her dead, had not this brave man thrown himself before her, with a loaded pistol in his hand, levelled at your heart.”
“How did I know it was a lady? How could I see in this dim light? I took her for one of you, and I took you all for robbers,” said the farmer, sulkily.
“Well, you see who we are now?”
“Yes; I see as you are my new lodgers. Though why you should be out here at the stables after your beasts at this hour of the night, and wake me up with a row; or should take my darter’s side-saddle, and kill my watch-dog, blame you, I don’t see!” growled the farmer.