While they worked to obey him, Ambrose, flinging himself down at full length, watched with an eye at the crack of the door.  He saw a group of men gradually gather at the corner of the store.  They advanced, hesitated, fell back.

Finally, an authoritative figure showed itself.  Ambrose guessed it to be Macfarlane, the policeman.  He advanced boldly down the sidewalk, and took up a position across the road.  The others straggled after him.

“Who is there?” challenged the leader.  Ambrose distinguished the tunic and forage cap.

Ambrose rose, and opening the door wider, showed himself.  “Ambrose Doane,” he said.  He warily watched the crowd, for any movement suggestive of raising a gun.

“You’re under arrest!” cried the policeman.

“All right,” said Ambrose coolly.  “What charge?”

“Unlawful entry.”

“You’ll have to come and take me!”

“If you resist the law the consequences will be on your own head!”

“I accept the consequences.”

“Stop the machinery!” cried the policeman.  “If you destroy the mill we’ll all starve!”

“The miller himself is running it,” said Ambrose coolly.  “With a gun to his head,” he added, grinning over his shoulder.  “I seized him in his bed and carried him here.”

“Good man!” Greer, behind him, gratefully murmured.

“If you refuse to give yourself up I’ll take you by force!” cried Macfarlane.

“Come ahead!” sang Ambrose.  “I’ve got twenty-five men here.  They have orders not to shoot, but if you open fire on us, the consequences will be on your head!”

“I’ll do my duty!” shouted the policeman.

“Get your crowd together!” taunted Ambrose.  “Lay your guns down, and come on over and put us out if you’re men enough.  We’ll stand by the result.”

The men behind Ambrose raised a cheer.  The sound did not improve the morale of the other side.  Even in the dark, the difference between the two crowds could be felt.

Ambrose’s men were fighting for what they felt to be their rights; the men behind the policeman had no incentive—­except their jobs.  Macfarlane paused to consult with another man—­probably Gordon Strange.

The others talked in excited whispers, and circled on one another without making any forward movement.  Messengers were despatched up and down the road.

Suddenly a petticoated figure came flying down the sidewalk from the store.  Ambrose’s heart leaped up, and then as suddenly calmed.  He told himself grimly he was cured.

It was Colina.  “What are you standing here for?” she cried passionately.  “Are you afraid?  They are nothing but common robbers!  Go and put them out!”

No man moved.

“Fire on them!” cried Colina.  “I order it!  I take the responsibility.”

They still hung back.  Macfarlane could be seen attempting to expostulate with her.