"Look, look!"
The exclamation was excited by a sudden glare of light, on the other side of the stables.
"The scoundrels have set fire to the stables!" Shillito said.
"What shall we do—make a sally?" Caister asked. "I am ready for it, if you think right."
"No," Reuben said, "they would only shoot us down as we come out. They must guess that some of us are up at this window, or they would try to carry the horses off, instead of destroying them.
"I only wish we were on the poor beasts' backs. We would go for them, though they were twice as many.
"I don't see the others now—they must have gone round to the other side of the house."
Scarcely had Reuben taken up his station, at one of the loopholes behind, than he again saw the dark figures. He took steady aim and fired. There was a sharp cry, and one of the fellows fell to the ground. The others at once threw down their burdens, and fled. Three minutes later there was a shout.
"Look here, you policeman, and you, Caister, you shall pay dearly for this night's work. I swear it, and Bill Fothergill never forgets his word in that way. It's your turn, this time. It will be mine the next, and when it is, take care."
The only reply was a shot from Reuben, aimed in the direction from which the voice came. A minute later there was a trampling of horses.