With the help of Revere they carried Nat into the inn parlor; the landlady, who was now up, as were indeed all the people of the hostelry, began staunching the flow of blood from a wicked cut in his scalp, all the time lamenting that such a thing should have occurred at her house.
“The villains!” she said. “The ungrateful wretches! I hope they get their deserts! To strike a poor lad like this—to attempt a robbery here—to run off without settling their score.”
“Now,” demanded Ben Cooper of the Porcupine, who was perched upon the arm of the settle where Nat lay, “how on earth did you come here?”
“I came to see him,” answered the misshapen boy, a catch in his voice.
The landlady gave the speaker a look that was full of wonder and contained just a little fear.
“How he ever came to make up with that wicked beast, Hector, is more than I can understand,” she said to the others. “I have had that dog chained in the yard these three years, and only one or two of us dare go near him.”
“I can always make friends with dogs,” said the dwarf. “All I need is a chance to talk to them. And when you put me in the loft over the stable to sleep my window was just above him; so I had no trouble at all. When the noise began I knew what it was right away, and so I made good use of Hector.”
Here Nat opened his eyes and began to stare bewildered about him. Revere, Ben and the landlady bent over him, but Ezra looked keenly at the dwarf.
“When the noise began you knew what it was,” repeated he. “How was that?”
“Never mind,” replied the dwarf, coolly. “I knew; so let that be enough.”