They could not possibly tell how many there were of their enemies. To fire the only three remaining charges they had would have been an act of madness; they therefore thought it prudent to keep these in reserve for the grand or final conflict. But the worst was over, as far as the Oakfield housebreakers were concerned. Presently the eager tramp of men’s feet echoed from the road before the farm, and a dozen rough voices were heard bawling to each other. The besieged party rushed to the window, and saw in the front of the house one of the village constabulary force, who was accompanied by a posse of strong-bodied youths of the immediate neighbourhood. In addition to these there were shepherds armed with crowbars, stablemen with their pitchforks, bird-keepers with their rusty fowling-pieces, woodmen with their billhooks, and a tall relation of Jane Ryan’s with a substantial kitchen poker. The reports of the gun and pistol in the dead hour of the night had aroused the whole neighbourhood. As may be readily imagined, the strong reinforcement at once dispelled all anxiety or doubt in the minds of the farmer’s household. Three men were instantly mounted, and started off in the dark to the three nearest railway stations. The rest were invited into the kitchen to wait till daybreak. There had been an unprecedented number of burglaries committed at several houses in the neighbourhood within the space of a few months――hence it was that the rustic population were so keenly alive when any signal of alarm was given. To capture the robbers was the wish of everyone assembled at Oakfield on that eventful night. With the first streaks of dawn the party congregated in the yard, and took counsel on the best means of pursuit. “If they have been carrying a body with them they can’t be very far off,” said Mr. Jamblin. “They are lurking about somewhere hard by, I dare say,” said the police-officer. “Where’s Jarvis?” cried Will, the carter. “He’d be the boy to find ’em for us. He’d ketch ’em if they burrowed underground like a rabbit.” “Would he?” ejaculated the policeman. “He must be a clever chap.” “Aye, that he be,” returned another rustic. “Have you got any more of his sort in this neighbourhood?” asked the officer. The rustics made no reply. “Who is this Jarvis you were speaking of?” inquired John Ashbrook. “Jarvis, sir? Why, him as ’listed some years ago, and fought under Lord Clyde in the Injies. Arter that they sent him to the other Injies, where the red men be, and they’ve taught him a power of strange tricks. He came here wi’ us, but he’s got lost since, or summat.” “No, I baint lost, Joe,” said a tall young man, whose left cheek was one great red scar, and whose face had been bronzed by no English sun. “Why, sure enough, it is Jarvis!” exclaimed Mr. Ashbrook. “Give us your hand, lad. Sure enough I shouldn’t ha’ known ye, they’ve knocked ye about so.”