A RAID AND A RAIDER.

It was between eight and nine o’clock when the first of the enemy appeared on the road, in the persons of two smart fellows in gleaming kilts and braided jackets.  It was no more than just dusk, and I saw that they were strangers to me.  One was tall and broad, the other shorter, and of very slight build.  They came on towards us confidently enough.  I was looking over Denny’s shoulder; he held Constantine’s rifle, and I knew that he was impatient to try it.  But inasmuch as might was certainly not on our side, I was determined that right should abide with us, and was resolute not to begin hostilities.  Constantine had at least one powerful motive for wishing our destruction; I would not furnish him with any plausible excuse for indulging his desire.  So we stood, Denny and I at one window, Hogvardt and Watkins at the other, and watched the approaching figures.  No more appeared; the main body did not show itself, and the sound of the fierce chant had suddenly died away.  But all at once a third man appeared, running rapidly after the first two.  He caught the shorter by the arm, and seemed to argue or expostulate with him.  For a while the three stood thus talking; then I saw the last comer make a gesture of protest, and they all came on together.

“Push the barrel of that rifle a little farther out,” said I to Denny, “It may be useful to them to know it’s there.”

Denny obeyed.  The result was a sudden pause in our friends’ advance; but they were near enough now for me to distinguish the last comer, and I discerned in him, although he wore the native costume, and had discarded his tweed suit, Constantine Stefanopoulos himself.

“Here’s an exercise of self-control,” I groaned, laying a detaining hand on Denny’s shoulder.

As I spoke, Constantine put a whistle to his lips and blew loudly.  The blast was followed by the appearance of five more fellows.  In three of them I recognized old acquaintances—­Vlacho, Demetri, and Spiro.  These three all carried guns; and the whole eight came forward again, till they were within a hundred yards of us.  There they halted, and, with a sudden, swift movement, three barrels were levelled at the window where Denny and I were looking out.  Well, we ducked.  There is no use in denying it.  For we thought that the fusillade had really begun.  Yet no shot followed, and, after an instant, holding Denny down, I peered out cautiously myself.  The three stood motionless, their aim full on us.  The other five were advancing cautiously, well under the shelter of the rock, two on one side of the road and three on the other.  The slim, boyish fellow was with Constantine, on our right hand; a moment later the other three dashed across the road and joined them.  Suddenly what military men call “the objective,” the aim of these manoeuvres, flashed across me.  It was simple almost to ludicrousness; yet it was very serious, for it showed a reasoned plan of campaign, with which we were very ill prepared to cope.  While the three held us in check, the five were going to carry off our cows.  And without our cows we should soon be hard put to it for food.  For the cows had formed in our plans a most important piece de resistance.