From these thoughts, trying enough for a starved lad, I fell to thinking of my father on the frontier fighting the Cherokees. And so I dozed away to dream of him. I remember that he was skinning Cameron,—I had often pictured it,—and Cameron yelling, when I was awakened with a shock by a great noise.
I listened with my heart in my throat. The noise seemed to come from the hall,—a prodigious pounding. Presently it stopped, and a man's voice cried out:—
“Ho there, within!”
My first impulse was to answer. But fear kept me still.
“Batter down the door,” some one shouted.
There was a sound of shuffling in the portico, and the same voice:—
“Now then, all together, lads!”
Then came a straining and splitting of wood, and with a crash the door gave way. A lantern's rays shot through the hall.
“The house is as dark as a tomb,” said a voice.
“And as empty, I reckon,” said another. “John Temple and his spy have got away.”