“If you fancy that I fear the smugglers, set your mind at rest; I am not likely to be attacked, and my mare will give them the go-bye if they attempt to do so.”
He set off. Darkness came on, and a storm of thunder and lightning that had long been brewing broke over his head. While passing through a thick part of the forest, four men suddenly sprang out on him, and a couple of bullets whistled by his head. Putting spurs to his horse, he was dashing on, when his bridle was seized, and he was dragged from his saddle. A heavy blow on the head almost stunned him, but he retained sufficient consciousness to distinguish the voice of another man who had suddenly rushed up.
“Who have you got there?” asked the new-comer.
“Old Maitland, and we will give him his deserts,” replied one of the men with a fierce oath.
“Hold! hold! don’t kill him!” cried the man.
It was too late. One of the ruffians let the butt end of his pistol fall with a tremendous blow, which made the unfortunate farmer fall helpless to the ground. A cry of horror echoed through the forest.
The murderers, satisfied that they had performed their deed of vengeance, hastened from the spot.