“They say the British are camped this side of the river, north of us,” said he, “with a big tribe of Injuns.  Some of their cavalry came within three miles of us to-day.  Everybody scairt t’ death.”

He began to set out a row of glasses.

“What ’ll ye hev?” he inquired.

“Guess I ‘ll tip a little blue ruin int’ me,” said D’ri, with a shiver; “‘s a col’ night.”

Seth and I called for the same.

“An’ you?” said the landlord, turning to Thurst.

“Wal,” said the latter, as he stroked his thin beard, “when I tuk the pledge I swore et I hoped t’ drop dead ’fore I see myself tek another drink.  I ‘m jest goin’ t’ shet my eyes ‘n’ hold out my glass.  I don’ care what ye gi’ me s’ long es it’s somethin’ powerful.”

We ate crackers and cheese while the landlord was telling of the west roads and the probable location of the British.  He stopped suddenly, peered over my shoulder, and blew out the candle.  We could hear a horse neighing in the yard.

“Some one et the window,” he whispered.  Then he ran to the door and drew the bolt.  “Ain’ much idee who ’t is,” he added, peering out of the window.  “By gosh! more ’n a dozen folks out here, soldiers tew, most uv ’em on horseback.  Come quick.”

We followed him upstairs, in the dark, as they began to pound the door.  From the yard a light flashed up.  They were evidently building a fire so that they would have better shooting if we came out.

“May set the house afire,” said the landlord.

He quickly unwound a big hose that ran up to a tank in the peak above us.

“Plenty o’ water?” D’ri whispered.

“Rivers uv it,” said the landlord.  “Tank’s connected with the reservoir o’ the lead-works on the hill up there.  Big wooden pipe comes in the gable-end.”

“Turn ‘er on,” said D’ri, quickly, “an’ let me hev thet air hose.”

The landlord ran up a ladder.  D’ri stuck the hose out of the window.  The stream shot away with a loud hiss.  I stood by and saw the jet of water leap forth as big as a pikestaff.  A man went off his horse, sprawling as if he had been hit with a club.  The jet leaped quickly from one to another, roaring on man and beast.  There was a mighty scurry.  Horses went headlong down the hill, some dragging their riders.  In the silence of the night, bedlam had broken loose.  The shouting men, the plunging horses, the stream of water roaring on rock and road, woke the village.  Men came running from behind the house to see what had happened, then rushed after their horses.  Some fell cursing as the water hit them.  The landlord put his mouth to my ear.

“Mek fer yer hosses,” he hissed.

We were below-stairs and out of the door in a jiffy.  Two men fled before us at the stable, scrambled over the fence, and went tumbling downhill.  We bridled our horses with all speed, leaped upon them, and went rushing down the steep road, our swords in hand, like an avalanche.  They tried to stop us at the foot of the hill, but fell away as we came near.  I could hear the snap of their triggers in passing.  Only one pistol-shot came after us, and that went high.