And, as he sat there, thinking of the little path-master, he became aware of a man slinking along the moonlit road below. His heart stopped, then the pulses went bounding, and his fingers closed on his rifle.
There were other men in the moonlight now—he counted five—and he called out to them, demanding their business.
“You’re our business,” shouted back young Byram. “Git up an’ dust out o’ Foxville, you dirty loafer!”
“Better stay where you are,” said McCloud, grimly.
Then old Tansey bawled: “Yew low cuss, git outer this here taown! Yew air meaner ’n pussley an’ meaner ’n quack-root, an’ we air bound tew run yew into them mountings, b’ gosh!”
There was a silence, then the same voice: “Be yew calculatin’ tew mosey, Dan McCloud?”
“You had better stay where you are,” said McCloud; “I’m armed.”
“Ye be?” replied a new voice; “then come aout o’ that or we’ll snake ye aout!”
Byram began moving towards the house, shot-gun raised.
“Stop!” cried McCloud, jumping to his feet.