“It must be done some time!” exclaimed Chase, at length, “and it might as well be done first as last. The sooner it is over the sooner we can start for home. Let’s go in now.”
As Chase said this he turned his horse, and put him into a full gallop, being determined to ride to the house and go through the interview with Walter, while he was in the humor for it. Arriving at the gate, he bent down from the saddle and raised the latch; but just then a thought struck him, and he paused.
“Suppose Walter puts no faith in our story,” said he; “what then? If he isn’t suspicious that we are up to a trick of some kind, he will think it very strange that we, who were so friendly to Bayard this morning as to be willing to fight for him, should be at loggerheads with him now.”
A long debate followed, the result of which was, that the boys determined to adhere to their resolution and warn Walter of his danger, leaving him to do as he pleased about believing their story. After that Chase once more rehearsed his speech in order to fix it in his memory, and again placed his hand on the latch; but just as the gate swung open and he was on the point of riding through, two dark figures suddenly appeared beside him; and while one seized his horse by the bridle, the other caught him by the arm and dragged him to the ground, placing a brawny hand over his mouth, to stifle his cries for help.
Chase Captured by the Smugglers.
“I’ve got him, Edmund,” said the latter, in a hoarse whisper. “Bring your light. Make yourself scarce about here,” he added, addressing himself to Wilson.
The man who had been called Edmund released the horse, and hurrying up to his companion, produced a dark-lantern from the pocket of his coat, and turned the slide. When the light blazed up, Wilson, who had sat motionless in his saddle, too nearly overwhelmed with astonishment to hear the words that had been spoken to him, saw that the men wore pea-jackets, and that they looked like sailors. He tried to get a glimpse of their features, but the lower portions of their faces were concealed by heavy mufflers, and their tarpaulins were slouched over their foreheads, so that nothing but their eyes could be seen.
“It’s him, ain’t it?” asked Edmund. “Here’s the white horse, the blue cloak with the red lining, the long, curly hair, the heavy boots and silver spurs, and the riding-whip with an ivory handle. Yes, it’s him. If you want to see daylight again, you had better be getting away from here,” he added, turning fiercely upon Wilson.
As the man spoke, he thrust his hand into the pocket of his pea-jacket and drew it out again, bringing with it a double-barrelled pistol. The sight of the weapon must have restored Wilson’s power of action, for he wheeled his horse and galloped swiftly down the road, closely followed by Chase’s nag, which seemed unwilling to be left behind.