He placed his eye to the knot-hole again, and then turned his head to whisper to his companion.
“’Tain’t the Frenchmen,” he said. “It’s one of the Spanish chaps with a red handkercher tied round his head, and him and the old priest is friends, for they are a hugging one another. This chap has got a short gun, and now he’s lighting a cigarette at the lamp. Can you hear me?”
“Yes; go on.”
“There’s four more of them outside the door, and they have all got short guns. One of them’s holding one of them horse-donkeys. Oh, I say, comrade!” continued the boy, as a quick whispering went on and the aromatic, pungent odour of tobacco floated up between the boards.
“What is it, Punch? Oh, go on—tell me! You can see, and I’m lying here on my back and can make out nothing. What does it all mean?”
“Well, I don’t like to tell you, comrade?” whispered the boy huskily.
“Oh yes; tell me. I can bear it.”
“Well, it seems to me, comrade, as we have got out of the frying-pan into the fire.”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“That we thought the old chap was going to sell us to the French when all the time it was to some of those Spanish thieves, and it’s them as has come now to take us away.—Here, wait a minute.”