“I’m against anything that Neighbor Dimisdale is for,” answered the Porcupine promptly.
Without another word Nat led the two horses out of the barn.
“Quick, now!” he said, in a low voice.
With a single heave he tossed the small body lightly into the saddle.
The Porcupine clutched the chestnut with his short legs and grasped the reins with a practiced hand.
“Good,” said Nat, to himself. “He knows what he’s about at all events.”
His own foot was in the stirrup when a light suddenly flared in his face.
“Now then, my friend,” said a cold voice, “give an account of yourself.”
For a moment Nat’s eyes were dazzled; then he made out the countenance of the speaker and that of the person who had so suddenly unmasked the lantern. They were the two who had come to the door of Chew House but a short time before, attracted by the barking of the dog. There was a superior smile on the face of the master and a derisive grin upon that of the man, as they noted the boy’s astonishment.
“Your suspicions were correct, Henry,” said the former, and Nat saw that he held a large pistol ready in his hand. “And I thank you for insisting, so to speak, upon a search.”