As the flames quickly leaped up the walls of the toll-house, igniting the dry timbers, the flash of light, the smoke, the crackle of burning wood, all speedily revealed to the two within the building what was taking place without.
"I tould ye to shut up, ye screechin' varmint!" cried Pat, in a terror-stricken voice. "They're burnin' us up aloive. The howly saints protect us!"
Maggie gave a loud whoop, this time rather of fear than of rage, though the two were strongly blended.
"Help! Murdher!" she shrieked.
"I thought she'd change her tune, the wildcat!" muttered the captain, grimly.
A few minutes later the back door of the toll-house was thrown quickly open, but as the two terror-stricken inmates of the burning building appeared in the doorway, ready to flee into the night, they were confronted by a couple of raiders with masks and drawn pistols.
"Go back!" the men sternly commanded.
"For the love o' hiven, don't shoot!" pleaded Pat.
"Go back!" the men repeated, leveling their weapons threateningly.
In silent terror the two obeyed and shiveringly drew back into the burning house. Dark spirals of smoke were by this time curling from the roof in several places, and soon little jets of flame thickly dotted it, shooting up from between the smoking shingles; then finally one broad sheet of flame overspread the top—a canopy of fire.