The raiders soon came out upon a turnpike, and after a ride of a mile or two they reached a spot where the pike was intersected by another, crossed at right angles. At the juncture of the two roads stood the toll-house which had been chosen for the night's raid.
A raider was stationed about a hundred yards from the gate to guard the approach from that direction, while the rest rode forward to where the double poles were now raised at this mid-hour of the night. Three of the horsemen passed through and took positions on the farther side of the toll-house, at about equal distances from it along the two roads.
In the meantime the captain selected a man from among the members of the band, who was least known to the locality, to act as spokesman, and while the remaining raiders grouped themselves about the gate, a resounding knock was given at the toll-house door.
"All roight! I'm afther comin'. Ye needn't break the dure down," answered a sleepy man's voice, deeply tinged with Celtic brogue. "What the divil do ye want, anyway? The poles are raised!" the voice demanded immediately after.
"We want these poles cut down," announced the spokesman of the band.
"Begorra! an' it's the raiders!" Pat said in a husky voice to his awakened spouse.
"The phwat?" asked Maggie, in a shrill tone, evidently raising up in bed.
"Whist, honey! The raiders!" repeated Pat, in more cautious tones.
"An' phwat do they want?" asked Maggie, in a still higher key.
"They want the poles cut down," faltered Pat.