“You are a brave boy,” said Mr. Carroll. “Where is he now?”
“He has tumbled to the ground, shot through the shoulder, I think.”
There was a loud thumping at the door. Herbert opened it, and admitted half a dozen guests, headed by the landlord.
“What's the matter?” exclaimed all, in chorus.
“If you will come to the window, gentlemen, I will show you,” said Herbert.
They followed him curiously, and the sight of the ladder and the wounded man, who was uttering groans of pain from the ground below, told the story at once.
“Served the rascal right,” said the landlord. “Who is he?”
“The black-whiskered man who was in the barroom last night,” said Herbert.
“I remember now; he asked particularly where you were to sleep—you and the old gentleman—but I did not suspect his purpose.”
“I did,” said Herbert, “and kept awake to be ready for him.”