Don flung the door open and to his great astonishment looked full into the leering face of Tom Bullard. Beside him were three of Crean Brush’s men, and behind them, grinning insolently, was the Redcoat Snell. In a moment all were inside, and Snell was striding toward the door to the cellar. “We’ll find something this time, boys!” he said exultantly.
“Gentlemen, what is it you wish?” It was the voice of Aunt Martha, and Don, glancing at her as she stood slight but well poised beside the fireplace, thought she looked fully ten years younger.
There was something in her voice that made everyone turn and look at her. “A-hem,” began one of the Tories—a big fellow who obviously was the leader. “A-hem, we’ve come to search your house.”
“Yes,” said Snell, “we’ve come to get that powder which you’ve got in the cellar.” With his bayonet he began to pry at the lock on the cellar door.
Aunt Martha looked helplessly at her nephew. Tom Bullard, standing near the door, made a sneering remark to the Tory beside him, and Don clenched his fists and started for him. But he had taken only two steps when he checked himself and turned to the leader. “You’ve no right in that cellar!” he cried. “You’ve no right in this house!”
“Hold your young tongue,” said the Tory sharply. “There’s powder in this cellar, and we know it. That’s what we want, and that’s what we’re a-goin’ to get.”
“There’s not a grain of powder in the cellar,” Don replied.
Aunt Martha’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment; never in her life had she known her nephew to tell an untruth, even in fun.
“No powder?” repeated the Tory. “Well, now that’s curious—very curious—because both these fellows say there is.” He indicated Snell and Tom.
“I’ll stake my life on it,” said Tom, stepping forward and throwing out his chest.