st a
crack, and listened. He could hear nothing but the downpour of the rain.
Yet it would not be long before the Vigilants dashed up to the house. No
doubt they had all been telling anecdotes in the corner grocery store, and
they would take but a short time for the mounting of their horses.
Cautiously closing the window he returned to the centre of the room.

"It's a dark night," he said, "and all the better for a plan I have to
propose. We are each secretly armed with pistols, are we not? Well, then,
let us put out this candle, and open the window to the left, looking out
towards the highroad to Jasper. When the Vigilants come riding up the road
and get in front of the house we will suddenly fire on them. This may
cause a panic, as the fellows will not be able to tell just where the
enemy are, and then----"

"Pshaw!" interrupted Watson. "You don't know whom you're dealing with.
These Vigilants are as brave as they are reckless, and there are at least
twenty-five or thirty of them. Three men can't frighten them. They would
only get us in the end, even if we did succeed in disabling one or two of
them in the first surprise."

"Then what are we to do?" asked George eagerly. Watson was so composed
that the boy felt sure he must have some better plan for escape.

"I have a scheme," said Watson, quite simply. "I have been hatching it in
my brain while we were talking. But the quicker it's put to the test, the
quicker will we save our necks. Are you willing to trust me blindly?"

There was a whispered "yes" from both the other conspirators. Watson
inspired confidence by his assurance.

"Then let us get all our clothes, shoes, everything on at once, and walk
boldly down-stairs."

Three minutes later the trio were marching down-stairs into the kitchen.
Hare and his wife were standing at the fireplace, looking the picture of
surprise, as their guests burst into the room, with the irrepressible
Waggie at their heels. The old negro "aunty," who had been dozing on a
stool near the hearth, jumped to her rheumatic feet in consternation.
"Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" she cried, throwing her withered arms above her
turbaned head. For the guests held revolvers in their hands, and the
"aunty's" heart always sank at the thought of gunpowder.

The farmer took a step forward, as if uncertain what to do or say. At last
he said, trying to smile, yet only succeeding in looking hypocritical:
"You ain't going to leave us this time of night,