“Somers, my boy, we must change our tactics. They have heard the whole story, and we can’t blind them. We must make the best of it. Have you a pistol?” whispered the captain.
“No; all I had was taken from me,” replied Somers.
“I have only one. No matter; it would never do to fire up here,” added De Banyan, as he picked up a short pitch-fork which lay near him.
“Are you going to kill him?” asked Somers.
“It’s life or death for you and me! We can’t stop for trifles,” answered the captain in hurried tones, but still in a whisper.
They listened for a moment longer to the quick movements of Peters in the stable below. It was evident that Jenny was duly caparisoned for service; and then another horse was led out, which belonged to the orderly. He was prepared for service in less time than Jenny had required; and, a moment later, the step of Peters was heard on the stairs. With the bag in his hand, he was coming up for the corn, as he had been ordered by the officer. He did not see the fugitives till he had reached the last step; when, as he was on the point of opening his mouth to speak, De Banyan leveled a blow at his head with the handle of the pitch-fork, which felled him to the floor.
He sank down upon the stairs stunned or dead; and the captain, as though he had carefully matured his plan beforehand, dragged the body to one corner of the loft, where he covered it with hay.
“Not a word, Somers,” said he in an excited whisper, as he crouched down behind the grain chest.
“Are you going to stay here?” demanded Somers, astonished at this singular disposition of the forces.
“Hush—the officer is close by.”