ho was the mysterious
wounded man "down-the-house"? One of the White Smugglers? Hardly. Boyd
had been in the thick of that business and knew that no one had been
hurt except Barnboard Tam, whose horse had run away with him and brushed
him off, a red-haired Absalom in homespuns, against the branches in
Marnhoul Great Wood.

One of the crew of the _Golden Hind_, American-owned privateersman with
French letters of marque? Possibly one of the desperate gang they had
landed called the Black Smugglers, scum of the Low Dutch ports, come to
draw an ill report upon the good and wholesome fame of Galloway Free
Trade.

In either case, Boyd Connoway little liked the prospect, and instead of
going to bed, he remained swinging his legs before the fire in a musing
attitude, listening to the moaning noises that came from the chamber he
was forbidden to enter. He was resolved to have it out with his wife.

He had not long to wait. Bridget appeared in the doorway, a bundle of
dark-stained cloths between her palms. She halted in astonishment at the
sight which met her eyes. At first it seemed to her that she was
dreaming, or that her voice must have betrayed her. She gave her husband
the benefit of the doubt.

"I thought I tould ye, Boyd Connoway," she said in a voice dangerously
low and caressing, "to be getting off to your bed and not disturbin' the
childer'!"

"Who is the man that had need of suchlike?" demanded Boyd Connoway,
suddenly regaining his lost heritage as the head of a house, "speak
woman, who are ye harbouring there?"

Bridget stood still. The mere unexpectedness of the demand rendered her
silent. The autocrat of all the Russias treated as though he were one of
his own ministers of state could not have been more dumbfounded.

With a sudden comprehension of the crisis Bridget broke for the poker,
but Boyd had gone too far now to recoil. He caught at the little
three-legged stool on which he was wont to take his humble frugal meals.
It was exactly what he needed. He had no idea of assaulting Bridget. He
recognized all her admirable qualities, which filled in the shortcomings
of his shiftlessness with admirable exactitude. He meant to act strictly
on the defensive, a system of warfare that was familiar to him. For
though he had never before risen up in open revolt, he had never counted
mere self-preservation as an insult to his wife.

"_Whack!_" down came the poker in the lusty hand of Bridget Connoway.
"_Crack!_" th