The loud barking of the dog prevented any risk of my voice being heard, which, low as I spoke, it might have been in the still night air. The men, whoever they were, did not fire, probably because they could not catch sight of Boxer, who was rushing from side to side, concealed among some low shrubs and thick grass. I hoped when he found that we were returning, he would also retreat and avoid the risk he was running of being shot.
We hurried back, Boxer still keeping up his barking, preventing our footsteps being heard.
“But I am afraid poor Boxer will be shot,” said Dan.
“No fear of that; the men, if they wish to surprise us, won’t venture to fire,” I observed, “and if we call him it will show them that they have been discovered; better let him take his chance, he understands what he is about. While he keeps up his barking, the sound of the door opening will not be heard.”
We accordingly crept back towards the house, but on reaching it found that Peter had closed the door, and we had to make our way round to the window of the room in which he slept. We tapped on the shutter, but Peter did not answer.
“He has fallen asleep again, the lazy fellow!” said Dan in a low voice.
We knocked louder and louder.
“Who dare?” at length asked a voice from within.
“Open the window and I will tell you,” I said in a whisper, but sufficiently loud for Peter to hear me, I hoped.
“Who dare?” he again asked.