“Hush,” said one who rode beside the last speaker. “The captain wants us to draw up close and listen to his commands. He has laid out his plan I guess, and is going to explain to us.”
Wild Nat had laid out his plans and did explain them.
As Ben Graham was forcing off the lid from the box of arms, Nat was approaching the house with a force of forty dismounted troopers.
A sentinel had been placed on the outside of the barn, with directions to stand in the shadow. Leaving his men, Nat quietly stole around the corner of the barn, looking for the sentinel. When at length his eye rested upon the indistinctly defined shadow of the tory, he threw himself at full length upon the ground and stealthily crawled toward the spot upon which the man was stationed.
John Vale peered cautiously around the corner and watched the progress of his friend. He saw the sentinel suddenly start and lean forward, then a figure leapt up and struck down the man. A low whistle announced to Vale that the coast was clear.
Ben Graham cast a glance of pride upon the stalwart villains whom he was to command. They gave a shout when they saw the steel, and pressed forward to look within the box.
An answering shout! Was it the echo that pealed through the room, or did they hear that cheer only in imagination? The tories looked at one another with astonishment and fear pictured upon each countenance.
“We are betrayed!” sang out one nearest the door. “Fly, for the rebels are coming!”
A sort of hurried movement was made; then all stood still again, to wait for what was to come. The suspense did not endure long, for with a crash the door flew open, and on the threshold, with a torch in one hand, a bright gleaming sword in the other, stood Nat Ernshaw, while a swarm of faces showed dark behind him.
“Surrender, you tory dogs!” shouted Nat. “Surrender. Show them your strength, boys. At them!”