“Come here, you boys, and tell me who it is,” said Fred and held the candle above his head.
Both boys got a brief glimpse of the person within the yard, and Jud said quickly, “’Tain’t a Redcoat.”
“No; ’tain’t a Redcoat,” said Fred. “Now come here,” he said in a loud voice. “Come here and let me see ye, and tell me what you’re a-doing in there.”
“Open that gate and stand aside—or—or, by thunder, I’ll shoot!”
“Judson! Come here!” cried his mother from the doorway. “Donald, you too!”
There was a moment of silence, and then Fred said evenly: “I’ll risk a shot from a chicken-thief.”
With those words he unlatched the gate and threw it open. “Now come here and let’s see what kind of a person ye are,” he said and waited with club poised in one hand.
“Let me hold the candle,” said Don.
He was advancing to take it when the fellow in the yard made a sudden rush. Don saw Fred’s club descend and heard it strike something hard. Then Fred went over backward, but just before the candle went out Don had a glimpse of the intruder’s face as the fellow rushed past and vanished into the darkness. It was Tom Bullard!
“Tarnation!” exclaimed Fred, getting to his feet. “Can’t see a thing. He’s gone, blast him! What a tormented fool I was to let him rush me like that!”