“No,” came from the farmer in a roar. “What manner of man do you think I am that I’d let a pack of Tory scoundrels have my nephew?”
“The woods won’t be pleasant camping for your women-folks at this time of the year, Tom,” came in threatening accents.
“No,” shouted the farmer. “You can’t have him.”
“Uncle, I’d better go out to them,” said Fairfax. “If they will promise to let the rest of you alone, and not burn the house, I’ll——”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, nevvy,” spoke Tom Ashley gruffly. “If they spare the house now ’twill be only that they may burn it later. You can’t depend upon the word of a Tory. We will stay here as long as we can, then make a dash for the woods. Thanks to Peggy we have plenty of cartridges now.”
“Something is burning,” cried Sally suddenly, sniffing the air.
A peculiar odor came through the loopholes of the windows, and the wind whirled a puff of smoke into the room. The faces of the girls blanched, and they looked at each other fearfully. The entire party seemed benumbed for the moment, then Fairfax sprang to the door of the lean-to.
“I’m going out to them,” he announced determinedly. “You shan’t burn here like rats in a trap.”
“Don’t go, son,” screamed his mother.