“I thought,” said another man, “that I heard something moving in the hedge at the side of the road.” “That’s what I heard,” said the sergeant. “Maybe it was a weasel. I wish to the devil that we were out of this place where you can’t see as much as your own nose. Now did you hear it, Shawn?” “I did so,” said Shawn; “there’s some one in the hedge, for a weasel would make a different kind of a noise if it made any at all.” “Keep together, men,” said the sergeant, “and march on; if there’s anybody about they’ve no business with us.” He had scarcely spoken when there came a sudden pattering of feet, and immediately the four men were surrounded and were being struck at on every side with sticks and hands and feet. “Draw your batons,” the sergeant roared; “keep a good grip of that man, Shawn.” “I will so,” said Shawn. “Stand round him, you other men, and hit anything that comes near you.” There was no sound of voices from the assailants, only a rapid scuffle of feet, the whistle of sticks as they swung through the air or slapped smartly against a body or clashed upon each other, and the quick breathing of many people; but from the four policemen there came noise and to spare as they struck wildly on every side, cursing the darkness and their opposers with fierce enthusiasm. “Let out,” cried Shawn suddenly. “Let out or I’ll smash your nut for you. There’s some one pulling at the prisoner, and I’ve dropped my baton.” The truncheons of the policemen had been so ferociously exercised that their antagonists departed as swiftly and as mysteriously as they came. It was just two minutes of frantic, aimless conflict, and then the silent night was round them again, without any sound but the slow creaking of branches, the swish of leaves as they swung and poised, and the quiet croon of the wind along the road. “Come on, men,” said the sergeant, “we’d better be getting out of this place as quick as we can. Are any of ye hurted?” “I’ve got one of the enemy,” said Shawn, panting. “You’ve got what?” said the sergeant. “I’ve got one of them, and he is wriggling like an eel on a pan.” “Hold him tight,” said the sergeant excitedly. “I will so,” said Shawn. “It’s a little one by the feel of it. If one of ye would hold the prisoner, I’d get a better grip on this one. Aren’t they dangerous villains now?” Another man took hold of the Philosopher’s arm, and Shawn got both hands on his captive. “Keep quiet, I’m telling you,” said he, “or I’ll throttle you, I will so. Faith, it seems like a little boy by the feel of it!” “A little boy!” said the sergeant. “Yes, he doesn’t reach up to my waist.” “It must be the young brat from the cottage that set the dogs on us, the one that loves beasts. Now then, boy, what do you mean by this kind of thing? You’ll find yourself in gaol for this, my young buck-o. Who was with you, eh? Tell me that now?” and the sergeant bent forward.