"Nor I; let's get below."
As if bent on a purpose, Tom led the way to the yard, and then dived into the stable. There were the two nags they had seen when first they established themselves in the place, contentedly munching at the hay with which a thoughtful trooper had provided them. Tom pulled a door open and entered the cart shed.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Two of them—light carts too. Call Howeley and his men."
The riflemen came plunging down at once, and stood at attention.
"Get the carts out and the horses harnessed in," Tom ordered. "When that's done, load one of the carts with food. We shan't want water or wine, though you can take a small cask of the latter. Don't overload. Now you, my friend," he went on, addressing one of the troopers, "hurry to the rooms above, and bring down a mattress and some blankets. Quick with it!"
"You're going to—beg pardon, sir," began Andrews, using his accustomed formula. "You ain't going to take French leave of them beauties! Never!"
His smile told of his delight, and of his agreement with the order.
"Take my compliments to Mr. Riley and your own officer, and help them both to descend," said Tom. "When they are safely in the cart on the mattress I have ordered, and armed, Andrews——"
"Yes, sir."
"And armed with carbines, you get to the top of the building and look about you carefully. If all's clear, let me know. Then slip down to join us. Now, I'll collect the other men."