Griff drew in his breath and nipped the other's arm till he all but cried out with pain. "There are three doors to the house, likewise. Dost not see the plan? They have us housed safe as rattens in a gin, they think, and they mean to block up every door with flames. Hush! Yond lean-bodied rogue is turning his head this way."
The man at the door had finished making his heap, and had turned sideways as if listening for some signal. Griff thought that he had heard them, but a second glance showed him that the man's regard was away from their corner—showed him, too, a lean face, cropped level where the right ear should have been. "'Tis the Lean Man himself!" said Griff. "God, why did we leave our swords indoors—we can do naught—saw ye his pistols and his sword-hilt glinting when he turned?"
"We've got our wish, and by the Heart, we'll lilt at the Lean Man, armed or not armed," answered Rob, his voice threatening to rise above a whisper for very gaiety.
A low call sounded from behind the house; a second answered from the side toward the orchard. The Lean Man whipped flint and steel from his pocket, and struck a quick shower of sparks, and on the instant a roaring stream of fire shot upward from the bracken to the ling, and from the ling to the dark pile of peats.
"'Tis done. Fools that we were to raise no cry," groaned Griff.
Time had been hanging heavily meanwhile with Wayne of Cranshaw and his cousin. Shameless Wayne, when he came in from the garden with his step-mother, found Rolf fixed in his resolve to spend the night at Marsh.
"After what chanced to the dogs," he said, "they may strike to-night as well as any other—and strike they mean to, soon or late. There's no need for me at Cranshaw, and one arm the more here is worth something to thee, Ned, as thy numbers go."
"Yes, stay," said Nell, her eyes dancing bright now that danger showed close at hand—"and if they come, we'll give them a brisker welcome than they look for."
"Well, if ye will have it so; but I doubt there'll be no attack to-night," muttered Shameless Wayne. "They move slowly, the Ratcliffes, and strike when ye least expect them.—A pest to those lads. Do they mean to scour the fields till daybreak?—Nell, get to bed, and see that the little bairn is cared for. She's in one of her eerie moods to-night; thou'lt treat her kindly?"
"As far as I can master kindness toward her. Wilt call me, Ned, if—if ye need another arm to fight?"