“Tae the de’il wi’ y’r thorrns, man!” cried Sir Hector, “yon was much nearer.”
“Why, so it were, sir,” Mr. Bunkle admitted; “but they be only shootin’ at Jarge Potter, I do ’ope——”
“Hope, man, hope?” questioned Sir Hector fiercely.
“Aye, sir; ye see, whiles they sojers was a-laying in wait for Jarge, Jarge were a-layin’ in wait for they wi’ ponies an’ tubs arl complete an’ ’arf a dozen stout lads. Well, sirs, s’ soon as they sojers spy Jarge, away Jarge goes, though not too fast, an’ they sojers arter ’im. Jarge do know every yard o’ the country ’ereabouts, ah, blindfold ’e do—an’ leads they sojers up an’ down an’ ’ere an’ there by the ’ardest ways ’till, being a-top of an ’ill, Jarge gi’es the word, the lads unloose a tub an’ away goes that theer tub a-rollin’ an’ a-boundin’ down a-top o’ they sojers, d’ye see, an’ away goes Jarge again in the dark ’till ’e feels like lettin’ they sojers ’ave another ’un an’ another ’till arl ’is tubs be gone ... an’ then gallop it is an’ away goes Jarge leavin’ they sojers wi’ naun to show for their ’ard labour ’cept mud an’ gubber an’ bruises, d’ye see!”
“Ah—but the tubs, Peter man, they hae the tubs!”
“Oh ah, sir, they ’ave the tubs—plenty on ’em, sir, full o’ ditch-watter! And the rest o’ the lads safe away wi’ the stuff—ah, it should be arl stowed safe an’ sound by now, I rackon! So doan’t ye worry your ’ead nor yet grizzle, Sir ’Ector. They sojers woan’t never ketch Jarge, not by no means, an’ in a bit they’ll be a-marchin’ back a-carryin’ o’ they tubs o’ watter mighty careful an’ that ’appy-’earted, sir—like birds they’ll be—’till they finds out, d’ye see. So——”
Here Mr. Bunkle’s eloquence was again disturbed by shooting, a scattered volley so much nearer and louder that Sir John instinctively peered from the casement expecting to see the village start from its slumbers in clamorous dismay. But Alfriston slumbered on; it seemed as serenely unperturbed by such trivial happenings as the old Cross itself, which has doubtless known overmuch of the like episodes in its weary length of days; not a door opened, not a light glimmered, not a sound broke the chaste quiet of its street save blustering wind and creaking sign.
“Aweel, aweel, I’m awa’!” quoth Sir Hector, taking hat and cloak. “Say what ye will, Bunkle man, musket-balls be ill things day or nicht, ye ken, an’ amang the lads oot yonder be braw friends o’ mine, so I’m awa’——”
“What to do, Hector?” inquired Sir John.
“Wha kens, lad, wha kens! But yon men ha’ drunk wi’ me an’ grupped ma hand in friendship, an’ I’ll dae wha’ I may for ’em, be they smugglin’-bodies or no.”