“Miss Ellis, did you hear dat ar?” came in a whisper from the opening of the roof, and with a suppressed scream Alice recognized Muggins, who had followed her young mistress, and for the last half hour had been poising herself, first on one foot and then upon the other, as she stood upon the topmost narrow stairs, with her woolly head protruding just above the roof, and her cat-like ears listening for some sound.

“How came you here?” Alice asked, and Mug replied: 

“I thinks dis the best place to fire at Mas’r Harney.  Mug’s gwine to take aim, fire, bang, so,” and the queer child illustrated by holding up a revolver which she had used more than once under Alice’s supervision, and with which she had armed herself.

Alice could not forbear a smile, but it froze on her lips, as clutching her dress Mug whispered: 

“Dar they comes,” pointing at the same time toward the woods where a band of men was distinctly visible, marching directly upon Spring Bank.

“Will I bang ’em now?” Mug asked, but Alice stopped her with a sign, and leaning against the chimney, stood watching the advancing foe, who, led by Harney, made straight for the stables, their suppressed voices reaching her where she stood, as did their oaths and imprecations when they found their booty gone.

There was a moment’s consultation and then Harney, dismounting, came into the yard and seemed to be inspecting the dark, silent building, which gave no sign of life.

“We’ll try the cabins first.  We’ll make the negroes tell where the horses are,” Alice heard him say, but the cabins were as empty as the stalls, and in some perplexity Harney gave orders for them to see, “if the old rookery were vacant too.”

“Mr. Harney, may I ask why you are here?”

The clear, silvery tones rang out on the still night and startled that guerilla band almost as much as would a shell dropped suddenly in their midst.  Looking in the direction whence the voice had come they saw the girlish figure clearly defined upon the housetop, and one, a burly, brutal Texan, raised his gun, but Harney struck it down, and involuntarily lifting his cap, replied: 

“We are here for horses, Miss Johnson.  We know Mr. Worthington keeps the best in the country, and as we need some, we have come to take possession, peaceably if possible, forcibly if need be.  Can you tell us where they are?”

“I can,” and Alice’s voice did not tremble a particle.  “They are safely housed in the kitchen and dining-room and the doors are barred.”

“The fair Alice will please unbar them,” was Harney’s sneering reply, to which came back the answer:  “The horses are not yours; they are Captain Worthington’s, and we will defend them, if need be, with our lives!”

“Gritty, by George!  I didn’t know as Yankee gals, had such splendid pluck,” muttered one of the men, while Harney continued:  “You say ‘we.’  May I ask the number of your forces?”