At that he said nothing, but there came an interruption. If you will believe me the old lady had slumbered through it all, and now woke up at a jolt of the coach, and cried out,—
"Thieves!"
"Why, madam, you say right," said I; "thieves it is, and as ferocious a tobyman as ever I remember."
With that she fell to screaming, but the man in black clapped his pistol to her, and gave her a fright that paralysed her to silence.
"Give me what you have," says he.
"I—I have nothing," she stammered. "There is no room on me to hide so much as a—"
"Bah!" says he. "If you will cease your clatter I will do you no harm."
"The gentleman has promised to do none of us harm," said I, "if we behave modestly. This coach shall not swim in blood, for the which we should fall to our prayers in thankfulness."
Whether he perceived my ironic tone and was to resent it I know not; but I would have been equal to him, the nincompoop. But as chance had it, just at that moment the coach came to with a crash that sent him flying against the window. He flourished his pistols wildly, and I thought the fool would have let one off. Only the door opened on the other side now, and the head of the coachman peered in. My man presents at him, shouting,—