“You’re a very accurate reasoner, my friend,” said Cattleton, trying to get his hat into shape. “I think we touched at two or three points as we came down, however.”
About this time four or five more mountaineers appeared bearing guns and looking savage.
“Bandits,” said Miss Stackpole with a shudder.
“Moonshiners,” muttered Crane.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Hubbard, do t—t—take m—me home!” wailed Mrs. Philpot.
“I should be delighted,” said Hubbard, his voice concealing the uneasiness he felt. “Indeed I should.”
More men appeared and at the same time a roll of thunder tumbled across the darkening sky. A sudden mountain storm had arisen.
The pedestrians found themselves surrounded by a line of grim and silent men who appeared to be waiting for orders from Tolliver.
A few large drops of rain come slanting down from the advancing fringe of the sable-cloud, and again the thunder bounded across the heavens.
“I guess you’d better invite us in,” suggested Cattleton, turning to the old man, who stood leaning on his tin horn. “The ladies will get wet.”