Bealby could hear his own heart beating.
The men were now close outside the shed. “He wouldn’t go in there,” said Mr. Benshaw’s voice. “He wouldn’t dare. Anyhow we’ll go up by the glass first. I’ll let him have the whole barrelful of oats if I get a glimpse of him. If he’d gone away they’d have caught him in the road....”
The footsteps receded. There came a cautious rustling on the part of the tramp and then his feet padded softly to the door of the shed. He struggled to open it and then with a jerk got it open a few inches; a great bar of moonlight leapt and lay still across the floor of the shed. Bealby advanced his head cautiously until he could see the black obscure indications of the tramp’s back as he peeped out.
“Now,” whispered the tramp and opened the door wider. Then he ducked his head down and darted out of sight, leaving the door open behind him.
Bealby questioned whether he should follow. He came out a few steps and then went back at a shout from away up the garden. “There he goes,” shouted a voice, “in the shadow of the hedge.”
“Look out, Jim!”—Bang—and a yelp.
“Stand away! I’ve got another barrel!”
Bang.
Then silence for a time, and then the footsteps coming back.
“That ought to teach him,” said Mr. Benshaw. “First time, I got him fair, and I think I peppered him a bit the second. Couldn’t see very well, but I heard him yell. He won’t forget that in a hurry. Not him. There’s nothing like oats for fruit stealers. Jim, just shut that door, will you? That’s where he was hiding....”