We followed into the garden.
The Youngster was in the middle of the road. As we joined him he bent toward the ground, as if, Indian-like, he could hear better. "Hush," he said in a whisper, as we all began to talk. "Hush! I hear horses."
There was a dead silence, and in it, we could hear the pounding of horses' hoofs in the valley.
"Better come in out of the rain," said the Doctor, and we obeyed. Once inside the gate the Doctor said, "Well, I reckon it is to-morrow at the latest for us. The truth of the matter is: I kept something from you this evening. The village was drummed out last night. As this road is being kept clear, no one passed here, and as we were ready to start at a moment's notice, I made up my mind to have one more evening. However, we've time enough. They can't advance to-night. Too wet. No moon. Come on into the house."
He closed and locked the big gate, but before we reached the house, there was a rush of horsemen in the road—then a halt—the Youngster opened the gate before it was called for. Two mounted men in Khaki rode in, stopped short at the sight of the group, saluted.
"Your house?" asked one, as he slid from his saddle and leaned against his horse.
"Mine," said the Doctor, stepping forward.
"You are not proposing to stay here?"
"No, we are leaving in the morning."
"Got any conveyances?"