He turned and said a few words to Sir Morton Darley’s men, Nick and the rest, after having had their injuries tended, and a few hours’ rest and refreshment, looking far better prepared for the encounter, and falling into their places with sullen determination.
Mark, at a word from his father, marched up alongside of Nick Garth, who gave him a surly nod, and seemed to be about to speak, but checked himself, and then let his curiosity master him.
“What ha’ they got in them baskets?” he said, nodding to a couple strung from poles, and each hanging from two men’s shoulders, “bread and cheese?”
“No: blasting-powder.”
“Eh? What for?” said the man, staring.
“Blow out the cavern,” said Mark quietly.
The man uttered a low long whistle, and then a grim smile covered his face.
“Hah!” he whispered, “that does a man good, young Eden! I was coming, and I meant to fight till I dropped; but after what we tried to do, I knew they’d be too many for us; but I begin to see my way now.”
“Yes, they don’t like the powder,” said Mark. “We made them run with it when they attacked us here.”
“What, did they ’tack you here?”