Jeffray advanced on the fellow from the cottage. His last command was obeyed with such exaggerated nimbleness that Jeffray saw the sentinel take to his heels and scud towards the woods. He held his fire, and, reaching over the fence, possessed himself of the abandoned musket. He had hardly turned back towards the cottage when he heard the sound of shouting coming from the forest. He ran up the path and put his shoulders to the door of the cottage. It was locked and the key was gone. Clinching his teeth, he levelled the musket and blew in the lock. The door yielded to him, and he crossed the threshold.
One rapid glance showed Bess lying full length upon the oak table, bound wrist and ankle, the cords passing also about her body. The voices increased in volume rapidly. Jeffray ran to the door, and looked out. Pack-horses were being driven from the clearing into the woods; men were rushing to and fro in the sunlight, cursing, and cutting the bales from the beasts’ backs. Jeffray saw Solomon’s son shouting and waving his arm in the direction of Dan’s cottage. Several figures broke away from the mob of pack-horses and gathered round the man. Jeffray slammed the door to, shot the heavy bolts, snatched the wooden bar from the corner and ran it through the staples. He turned back into the room, took the knife from the sheath at his belt, and cut the cords that bound Bess.
She struggled up, flung her arms round Jeffray, and kissed him on the lips.
“They are coming,” she said, hoarsely.
“Yes, yes.”
“Give me the musket. I can fight.”
Jeffray gave the musket into her hands, looked at his pistols, laid his sword upon the table and the belt that carried the powder-flask and bullets.
“Load it,” he said, quietly; “ram home several slugs. Kneel down behind the chair.”
Bess, giving him a fierce love glance, did as he commanded her.
“Watch the window; I will hold the door. Reload for me if you can. We shall have the whole smuggling crew on us in a moment.”