If Stoliker felt like an innocent child, he did not look it. With clouded brow he eagerly scanned the empty fields, hoping for help. But, although the constable made no reply, there was an answer that electrified Yates, and put all thought of the beauty of the country out of his mind. The dull report of a musket, far in front of them, suddenly broke the silence, followed by several scattering shots, and then the roar of a volley. This was sharply answered by the ring of rifles to the right. With an oath, Yates broke into a run.
“They’re at it!” he cried, “and all on account of your confounded obstinacy I shall miss the whole show. The Fenians have opened fire, and the Canadians have not been long in replying.”
The din of the firing now became incessant. The veteran in Yates was aroused. He was like an old war horse who again feels the intoxicating smell of battle smoke. The lunacy of gunpower shone in his gleaming eye.
“Come on, you loitering idiot!” he cried to the constable, who had difficulty in keeping pace with him; “come on, or, by the gods! I’ll break your wrist across a fence rail and tear this brutal iron from it.”
The savage face of the prisoner was transformed with the passion of war, and, for the first time that day, Stoliker quailed before the insane glare of his eyes. But if he was afraid, he did not show his fear to Yates.
“Come on, you!” he shouted, springing ahead, and giving a twist to the handcuffs well known to those who have to deal with refractory criminals. “I am as eager to see the fight as you are.”
The sharp pain brought Yates to his senses again. He laughed, and said: “That’s the ticket, I’m with you. Perhaps you would not be in such a hurry if you knew that I am going into the thick the fight, and intend to use you as a shield from the bullets.”
“That’s all right,” answered the little constable, panting. “Two sides are firing. I’ll shield you on one side, and you’ll have to shield me on the other.”
Again Yates laughed, and they ran silently together. Avoiding the houses, they came out at the Ridge Road. The smoke rolled up above the trees, showing where the battle was going on some distance beyond. Yates made the constable cross the fence and the road, and take to the fields again, bringing him around behind Bartlett’s house and barn. No one was visible near the house except Kitty Bartlett, who stood at the back watching, with pale and anxious face, the rolling smoke, now and then covering her ears with her hands as the sound of an extra loud volley assailed them. Stoliker lifted up his voice and shouted for help.
“If you do that again,” cried Yates, clutching him by the throat, “I’ll choke you!”