With Herbert and Cubina it was not the moment for mirth; and, as soon as Smythje had been fairly deposited on his feet, both eagerly questioned him as to the circumstances that had transpired.
Smythje admitted having fled—at the same time making an awkward attempt to justify himself. According to his own account, and the statement was perfectly true, it was not till after he had been overpowered and struck down, that he betook himself to flight. How could he do otherwise? His antagonist was a giant, a man of vast magnitude and strength.
“A howid queetyaw,” continued Smythje; “a queetyaw with long arms, and a defawmity—a pwotubewance upon his shawders, like the haunch of a dwomedawy!”
“And what of Kate, my cousin?” cried Herbert, interrupting the exquisite, with contemptuous impatience.
“Aw—aw—yes! yaw cousin—ma paw Kate! A feaw the wobbers have bawn her off. A know she was bwought outside. Aw heard haw scweam out as they were dwagging’ haw down the staiw—aw—aw—.”
“Thank Heaven, then!” exclaimed Herbert; “thank Heaven, she still lives!”
Cubina had not waited for the whole of Smythje’s explanation. The description of the robber had given him his cue: and, rushing outside, he blew a single blast upon his horn—the “assembly” of his band.
The Maroons, who had scattered around the ruin, instantly obeyed the signal, and soon stood mustered on the spot.
“Upon the scent, comrades,” cried Cubina. “I know the wild boar that has been making this havoc. I know where the monster makes his den. Crambo! Ere an hour passes over his head, he shall answer for this villainy with his accursed life. Follow me!”