“Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
There was shutting of the window, and then the man said slowly:
“I’ll bring a whip round to some on yer directly. Hold yer row!”
One dog barked as if protesting.
“Quiet, will yer!” cried the man. “Think nobody wants to sleep?”
Then silence, an uneasy rattle of a chain, the banging of a door, and Nic wiped the perspiration from his brow.
The case seemed hopeless, but he would not give up. Twice over he tried to get round to the back of the house, but the dogs were on the alert; and the last time, just as he drew rein closer than he had been before, the window was opened, two flashes of light cut the darkness, and there came the double report of a gun, making Sorrel bound and nearly unseat his rider.
“See any one, sir?” cried the man, hurrying out.
“No; but I’m sure there’s some one about. Get your gun. I’ll be down directly, and we’ll keep watch.”