"They have got just an hour's start, boys," Mr. Hardy said. "Your mother said that it was exactly half an hour from the first alarm to my arrival, and I was in the house a minute or two under that time. It is about half-past twelve now."
"It is very fortunate, papa, that we had our horses safe up at the house."
"Yes, boys. If we had been obliged to wait until tomorrow morning before starting, our chance of coming up would have been very slight. As it is, we shall be up with them in three or four hours. The sheep cannot go really fast more than twelve or fifteen miles, especially with their heavy fleeces on."
Half an hour's riding took them to the scene of the attack. As they neared it they saw two figures lying upon the grass. There was no occasion to go near: the stiff and distorted attitudes were sufficient to show that they were dead.
Mr. Hardy purposely avoided riding close to them, knowing that the shocking sight of men who have met with a violent death is apt to shake the nerves of any one unaccustomed to such a sight, however brave he may be.
"They are evidently dead, poor fellows!" he said. "It is no use our stopping."
Charley looked at the bodies with a fierce frown upon his face, and muttered to himself. "We'll pay them out for you, the cowardly scoundrels."
Hubert did not even glance toward them. He was a tender-hearted boy and he felt his face grow pale and a strange feeling of sickness come over him, even at the momentary glance which he had at first taken at the rigid figures.
"I suppose you do not mean to attack them until night, papa?"
Charley asked.
"Well, boys, I have been thinking the matter over, and I have come to the conclusion that it will be better to do so directly we get up to them."