For obvious reasons, therefore, it would serve his purpose much better if Milt got himself hopelessly entangled in the meshes of the law by his own acts, rather than the Squire should be accused of helping to bring about his nephew's ruin. There would be much less difficulty in winning the girl, the old man thought, ignorant of what she already knew. As matters now stood, everything was working beautifully to his interest, and with the exercise of a little diplomacy, such as he well knew how to employ when occasion demanded, his plans would soon be happily accomplished, and his nephew's downfall speedily brought about. When Squire Bixler got home again, after an interview with the sheriff, he replenished the fire, closed the shutters, and discarding his heavy boots for his carpet slippers, he gathered the papers about him, and sat down to read. Although his usual bedtime had passed, he only yawned occasionally, and consulted his heavy time-piece, or glanced at the tall clock in the corner. Along toward the midhour of the night he suddenly aroused himself from the stupor of sleep that was beginning to lay hold of him, and, straightening himself in his arm-chair, listened attentively. A sound which seemed at first elusive grew clearer to his alert ear, arousing his drowsy faculties to fuller consciousness. It was an easy matter to interpret that sound aright--indeed, his ear had done so quickly. It was a welcome sound for which he had been impatiently listening all these long, weary hours, and it signified the raiders were abroad. The old man sat motionless, listening intently. Clear and distinct, in measures musical as steel hammers on an anvil, came the rapid hoofbeat of horses along the pike, now louder where the open fields spread out on either side of the road, now dull and muffled when a hillock intervened. As the sound grew nearer the Squire hastily arose, and blowing out his candle went to the window and opened it. The body of horsemen were even then passing his avenue gate. Now the raiders were climbing the little hill that arose between his place and the toll-house, each fall of the iron shoes seemed a sharp, clear note, played in staccato time, on the hard, white surface of the pike, then the notes grew less distinct, softened and shaded as by a soft pedal, when the raiders descended the farther side of the hill. They must soon be at the very gate. The Squire listened. There came a pause in the hoof music, then a solitary horseman took up the refrain. The listener recalled to mind the request that his recent nocturnal visitor had made concerning this advance guard--that harm should not come to him--and a grim smile played over the old man's face as he silently hoped that this one, too, might fall. The Squire had urged upon the sheriff that no man should escape--not one. Suddenly a shot rang out--then another--two, three--a half-dozen. Quickly a volley poured forth, startling the night with clamorous echoes.