"Nought to matter, sir. Look'ee, here lies the rogue Jerry—zounds, and a-coming to already! Hold the light, sir—may as well tie him up nice and comfortable."
"And this other fellow too, Zeb—he's stirring, I'm glad to see——"
"Glad sir? Zooks, 'tis pity you didn't kill him——"
"Nay, I'll ha' no killing, Zebedee——"
"Zounds sir, why so queasy-stomached nowadays? 'Tain't as if you'd never——"
"Enough, Sergeant! I'm no longer a soldier and besides—things are—are different quite—nowadays."
"Why look'ee sir, where's t'others? Here be but two o' the rogues——"
"Only two, Zeb?—give me the lanthorn!" By its light they searched the mill inside and out; gruesome signs of the vicious struggle they found in plenty but, save themselves and their two groaning captives, the place was empty.
"'Tis mortal hard," mourned the Sergeant, "here's me i' the dark, seemingly a-knocking of 'em all down one arter t'other, continual. Yet, 'spite said zeal here's but two to show for same, sure enough."
"Why then we must after 'em, Zeb!" said the Major with a sudden sharp catch of the breath. "Go fetch the horses!" Forthwith Sergeant Zebedee hurried away and, left alone, the Major, leaning against the wall, set a hand to his side and kept it there until the Sergeant reappeared, leading their horses.