Dick staggered away, and nearly fell from the tremendous thrust given to him by the big wheelwright, and as he regained his equilibrium, it was to see Hickathrift with something flashing in his hand, making for the other end of the stable, which was as yet untouched.
A few blows from the axe he carried made the rough mud wall collapse, and, without a moment’s hesitation Hickathrift forced his way through the hole he had broken, and from which a great volume of smoke began to curl.
Dick would have followed; but Tom clung to his arm, and before he could get free, during what seemed to be a terribly long period of suspense, the wheelwright appeared again, and staggered out, bearing the insensible body of the squire.
For a few minutes there was a terrible silence, and Hickathrift tottered from the man he had left where he had dragged him on the ground.
For the wheelwright was blinded and half strangled by the smoke, and reeled like a drunken man.
He recovered though, directly, and seized a bucket of water from one of the men. With this he liberally dashed the squire’s face, as Dick knelt beside him in speechless agony, and grasped his hand.
For a few minutes there was no sign. Then the prostrate man uttered a low sigh, and opened his eyes.
“Dick!” he said, as he struggled up.
“Yes, father. Are you much hurt?”
“No, only—nearly—suffocated, my boy; but—but—Oh, I remember! The horses?”