Tom Clifton, the sentinel, gazing abstractedly out of the window, suddenly saw a number of horsemen, like shadowy phantoms, ride from behind a spur of the hill, and, with ominous silence, bear down upon the house.
This sight so astounded the tall boy that for an instant he stood stock still. But, with a strong effort, recovering mastery over his tingling nerves, he yelled a warning.
“Great Cæsar! Wake up, fellows, wake up!”
His ringing alarm had not ceased to echo when sharp gleams of fire caught his eye and he heard the rapid crack, crack of pistol shots, together with a succession of shouts.
By this time the boys were springing to their feet, as wide awake as they had ever been in their lives, every one hurling eager, anxious inquiries toward the Rambler.
“Keep under cover!” screamed Larry. “You chaps wouldn’t take any warning. Now see what’s come of it!”
Crack—crack—crack! The fusillade of shots rang out again. They could hear the sound of many voices. Thoroughly alarmed, all sprang for points of safety, as far away from the range of bullets as possible.
Every instant they expected to hear the ping, ping of flying lead.
This ominous sound, however, failed to reach their ears.
But something else did.