Both boys raised their voices and then rushed toward the house. The chickens were making a terrible noise now; and Jud’s dog, which he had tied at the back of the wagon shed, was barking at the top of his voice. Whoever was in the chicken yard was having a hard time getting out. Don, standing at the corner of the house, could hear the fellow pounding furiously at the gate and shaking it with all his might. In the midst of the commotion a window opened in the house next door, and then a light gleamed within. “There’s Fred Ferguson,” said Jud. “O Fred, O Fred!” he shouted. “Come quick!” “Judson, Judson, what on earth is the matter?” It was the voice of Mrs. Appleton. Jud did not reply, for at that moment Fred Ferguson, partly dressed and carrying a lighted candle, which he was shading with his hand, appeared on the back doorstep of the Ferguson house. He was a big raw-boned young fellow, and both boys noticed that he was carrying a heavy stick under one arm. “What’s wrong?” he shouted and advanced toward the fence. “Somebody’s in our chicken yard,” replied Jud. “Come on, Don,” he added, and the boys hurried toward Fred. “Open the gate and let me out of this!” came a voice out of the fog, and Don started. The fence shook violently, and the dog and the chickens increased their clamor. “Open the gate, I say!” “Leave off shaking that fence,” cried Fred. “Who are you, and what are you doing in there? Leave off shaking that gate, I tell you--if you break it, I’ll whale ye!” “Open up, then!” “Come here, you boys, and tell me who it is,” said Fred and held the candle above his head. Both boys got a brief glimpse of the person within the yard, and Jud said quickly, “’Tain’t a Redcoat.” “No; ’tain’t a Redcoat,” said Fred. “Now come here,” he said in a loud voice. “Come here and let me see ye, and tell me what you’re a-doing in there.” “Open that gate and stand aside--or--or, by thunder, I’ll shoot!” “Judson! Come here!” cried his mother from the doorway. “Donald, you too!” There was a moment of silence, and then Fred said evenly: “I’ll risk a shot from a chicken-thief.” With those words he unlatched the gate and threw it open. “Now come here and let’s see what kind of a person ye are,” he said and waited with club poised in one hand. “Let me hold the candle,” said Don. He was advancing to take it when the fellow in the yard made a sudden rush. Don saw Fred’s club descend and heard it strike something hard. Then Fred went over backward, but just before the candle went out Don had a glimpse of the intruder’s face as the fellow rushed past and vanished into the darkness. It was Tom Bullard! “Tarnation!” exclaimed Fred, getting to his feet. “Can’t see a thing. He’s gone, blast him! What a tormented fool I was to let him rush me like that!” The quick footsteps of the thief were becoming fainter and fainter in the distance. Then they ceased abruptly. “Who was it, Fred?” asked Jud.