Kits was at
the door, still with his mug of brandy in his hand. Guy seized him
by the ear and took him out with him into the fresh air, where the
white frost was and where the white moon was shining now.
"The soldiers are after us and know where we are, Kits. Pitch that
stuff away."
"Not if--"
"And get the horses ready--quick! I will be with you in a moment."
He walked along the garden path in front of the big old farm, swung
wide the farm gates, and propped them open. Then he went down
on all fours and put his ear to the frost-bound country road and
listened. "Yes," he added, "two miles away, and coming on sharp.
Why not let them come? What does it matter how soon?" He strode
back, however, with quick steps. Five minutes afterward he was at
the door of the farm parlour again, with his cloak over his shoulder
and his riding-whip in his hand.
"Boys, the redcoats are upon us!" he shouted "Each man to his
horse."
"We are betrayed then!"
"We won't go and leave all the good things in this house," cried
Stango. "Why, it's like the Bank of England upstairs, and I have
the keys. I--"
"Stango, I shall certainly put a bullet through your head if you
attempt to do anything more save to thank our worthy hose for his
hospitality and give him up his keys.
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