There was no need for Samson’s adjuration, for Fred’s sense of hearing was strained to the utmost, and he was picturing mentally the effects of the scattered shots which were now being fired.
“All waste, Samson; all waste,” he said hoarsely. “No man can take aim when he’s galloping full stretch.”
“No, Master Fred; but it’ll scare t’other side a bit, p’raps make some of ’em surrender.”
Fred shook his head slowly, and then listened again as the girl exclaimed excitedly—
“Look, father; there’s one down!”
“Ay, how could he expect to leap the wall on a horse blown like that?”
“Those two have galloped up to him. Ah, cowards! two to one. Father, they’re killing him. Oh!”
“They’re not,” cried Fred, hotly. “They’re taking him prisoner.”
“Right!” cried the landlord, turning sharply; “but how did you know?”
“Because I know our side would not act like butchers with a defenceless man,” said Fred, proudly, “They take prisoners, sir, and always give quarter.”