“Let them do their worst, Mons,” he said; “whatever happens, you and I will stand by each other.”
Anders, Tharald’s brother, came rushing in by the back door. He, too, had seen the men coming.
“Hide yourself, hide yourself, Tharald!” he cried in alarm; “it is you they are after.”
Hide yourself! That was more easily said than done. The hut was now surrounded, and there was no escape.
“Climb up the chimney,” begged Anders; “hurry, hurry! you have no time to lose.”
Happily there was no fire on the hearth, and Tharald, still hugging Mons tightly, allowed himself to be pushed by his brother up the sooty tunnel. Scarcely was Anders again out on the floor, when there was a tremendous thump at the door, so that the hut trembled.
“Open the door, I say!” shouted John Bamle without.
Anders, knowing how easily he could force the door, if he wished, drew the bolt and opened.
“I want the salmon-fisher,” said John, fiercely.
“Yes, we want the salmon-fisher,” echoed the crowd, wildly.