The captain laughed at all threats, for he felt that no one would dare to follow him to his stronghold; and if an attack were made, he knew that he could easily beat it off. The only two people near who were at all likely to trouble him were his old captain, Sir Morton Darley, and Sir Edward Eden.
“And they’ll talk about it, and and threats, and never come.”
He seemed to be right, for as report after report of raids being made, here and there in the neighbourhood of the two strongholds reached their owners, Sir Morton Darley would vow vengeance against the marauders, and then go back to his books; and Sir Edward Eden would utter a vow that he would hang Captain Purlrose from the machicolations over the gateway at the Black Tor, and then he would go into his mining accounts, and hear the reports of his foreman, Dan Rugg, about how many pigs there were in the sty—that is to say, pigs of lead in the stone crypt-like place where they were stored.
And so time went on, both knights having to listen to a good many upbraidings from Master Rayburn, who visited and scolded them well for not combining and routing out the gang from their hole.
“I wish you would not worry me, Rayburn,” said Sir Morton one day, in Ralph’s presence. “I don’t want to engage upon an expedition which must end in bloodshed. I want to be at peace, with my books.”
“But don’t you see that bloodshed is going on, and that these ruffians are making the place a desert?”
“Yes,” said Sir Morton, “it is very tiresome. I almost wish I had taken them into my service.”
“And made matters worse, for they would not have rested till you had made war upon the Edens.”
“Yes,” said Sir Morton, “I suppose it would have been so.”
“Why not get the men quietly together some night, father, and if I went round, I’m sure I could collect a dozen who would come and help—men whose places have been robbed.”