“That patrol again! Sweeps this part of the country frequently. No camp this side of Philadelphia. ----, I’d like to put a stop to it! If I had another man or two.” “Hold on, old feller,” interrupted Jukes, surprized at the former’s warlike speech. “You ain’t the one to do any fightin’. If they’d ketch you usin’ a gun an’ wearin’ civilian clothes they’d hang you.” “Tut,” said the squire. “I bear a colonel’s commission in the militia.” “Milisher, huh? Well, anybody could be an officer in the milisher. It’s no-count.” Jukes was on his knee, head thrust forward, as if trying to penetrate the darkness. The squire dismounted from his horse, muttering. “If you weren’t such a rascally fellow and we had another one or two--” “Old man,” broke in Jukes, “I’m goin’ to do a little scoutin’. Stand fast till I come back.” He slipped his knapsack to the ground and swiftly advanced, the aggressive Scotch-Irish spirit rousing at the proximity of the enemy and a daring plan working through his canny head. Within ten yards of the place he stopped, hearing the champing of a bit. After some moments of intent observation he decided no guard had been left with the animals and moved around the corner of the tavern to a window. The light sparkled through the frosted panes. Jukes removed his hat, raised himself cautiously and commanded a clear view of the interior. His count had been right. Six of them, headed by a sergeant, were seated around a table; six solid looking fellows with vests loosened to the heat of the room, saber points clanking on the floor. The tavern keeper moved across the boards with steaming cups and disappeared in the kitchen a moment, reappearing with a platter of meat. Jukes located the inner kitchen door and ducked down, grinning dourly. “They’ll be feedin’ some minutes,” he muttered, working his way back. “Well, we’ll give ’em time to hang themselves.” He cruised around the yard and reassured himself there was no guard with the horses, going so far as to put his hands upon the hitching rack and take another knot in each of the tied reins. If any of them wished to get away in a hurry they’d find unexpected difficulties. He moved back to the squire’s position. “Six of ’em,” said Jukes. “Mr. Milisher Colonel, you got any weapons?” “My pistols. D’you mean you’ve got spirit enough to flush ’em?” “Well, fightin’s my trade. You talk loud but I ain’t sure you’ll stand fire. Milisher never do. Howsoever, if there’s any gimp in that fat skin o’ yourn come along. I want you to go to the front door an’ wait until you hear me shout. Then you shout--as loud as you can, breakin’ in. I’ll be comin’ through the back way. Le’s go.” The squire tied his horse to a fence and followed Jukes until they were within a few paces of the tavern. “Wait until you hear me,” admonished the latter, “then make all the noise you can.”