"Oh, Mother!" cried Cecil, anxious to be a hero, but conscious of a painful sinking at the pit of his stomach, "what manner of man is this Ingle? Will he have horns and a tail like the devil?"
"Fear not, Cecil," Margaret Brent answered. "Dick Ingle has cowered before me ere this. Let him face me now if he dares. He has lied about me to the man I loved, he has done his best to ruin my life, but he has never yet dared to look me in the eye since. If he enters the town this day, he and I will have it out. Elinor, are there fire-arms in the house?"
"Nay, but I have my dagger—"
"Keep it; thou mayst have need of it. Stay thou here with the child, and I will take my pistol and go to the gate. Doubtless Giles will take command at the gate next the river."
"Nay, Margaret, are there not men enough?"
"Not so many but they will be the better for one woman."
"Thou canst not fight like a man."
"Perhaps not,—I have not yet tried; but at least I can make the men fight better. There was never soldier yet that did not shoot straighter and strike deeper if a woman were looking on. That's what we're for, Coz,—not to pit our strength against men's, but to double theirs."
"Margaret, thy courage shames me; I will come too. At least, I can carry powder and water-buckets."