“A tavern! Here ’s luck, for at least we can get some more rum.” Spurring the horse up to the door, he pulled a pistol from its holster and pounded the panel noisily.
It required more than one repetition of the blows to rouse an indweller, but finally a window was enough raised to permit the thrusting out of a becapped head.
“Who’s below, and what do yez want?” it challenged gruffly.
“Never mind who I am. I want a pint of the best spirits you have, and a chance to warm myself for a ten minutes, if you’ve a spark of fire within.”
“Oi’ve nothin’ for anny wan who comes routin’ me out av bed at such an hour, an’ may the devil fly off wid yez for that same,” growled the man. “Go away wid yez, an’ niver let me see yez more.”
The head was already drawn in, when Brereton, with quick readiness, called lustily: “Do as I order, or I’ll have my troopers break in the door, and then look to yourself.”
“Just wan minute, colonel,” cried the man, in a very different tone; and in less than the time asked for the bolts were slipped back and the door was opened by a figure wrapped in a quilt, which one hand drew about him, while the other held a tallow dip aloft.
In the brief moment it took to do this, the officer not so much dismounted as tumbled from his horse, and he now walked stiffly into the public room, stamping his feet to lessen their numbness.
“Where ’s thim troopers yez was talkin’ av?” questioned the landlord, peering out into the night.
“Throw some wood on those embers, and give me a drink of something, quickly,” ordered Brereton, paying no heed to the inquiry.