“Certainly. You were watched all the time. And since Mynheer Van Curter has thought proper to speak of one of my men, and of the punishment he intends to give him, let me say that I have my eye on this Carl Anselm. If he falls into my hands he shall not taste a whipping-post, but he shall have a ride on a higher horse than any he has ever saddled. And he will find it a tough colt to ride. I shall hang him as sure as my name is Holmes.” “You refuse to surrender?” “Utterly—and I advise you to clear out at once.” “The consequences must light upon your own head then.” “I am ready to abide them. My stockade is strong, and I have men enough to man it. If you try to take it you will have to fight. It is useless to prolong this conference. Let me bid you good-night.” As they turned to leave, Barlow saw some men creeping up in the rear, led by Carl. He whispered to the captain. He turned quickly, when Van Curter laid hands upon him, and attempted to detain him. Willie found himself in the grasp of Joseph. With one effort of his prodigious strength, Holmes dashed Van Curter breathless to the ground, and turned to the aid of Willie. But, the young men, clinching, had fallen, and Joseph’s head struck the earth with such force as to deprive him of his senses. Rising quickly, the two turned toward the stockade. There were seven men between them and the gate—unarmed, however, as they had intended to overpower the officers—not to harm them. Holmes measured the distance to the gate with his eye, threw forward his chest, bringing his fists up to his sides. The Dutchmen gathered in a body to seize them as they started to run for the gate. As the two men came near they increased their speed, and came down upon the little group with the might of giants; using their hands in a manner which astounded their would-be captors. Carl, who threw himself directly in Willie’s path, got a “facer” from the one uninjured arm which sent him down as if struck by a bullet, with a broken nose. Right and left went the Dutchmen, the dull thud of the blows sounding ominously of defeat to them. At last the two men broke through the crowd and reached the stockade, breathing hard, but not in the least hurt. “The scoundrels,” said one of the garrison. “Say the word, captain, and we will go out and whip the entire lot.” “That word I won’t say. I think too much of my men. What are they doing, Bailey?” “Picking up the broken bones and taking them away. Oh, sir, if you could only have seen the blow the lieutenant gave the Dutchman who was here this morning!” “I am glad he got a stroke at him. I will hang that fellow yet.” “Here comes Van Curter again, sir,” said one of the men. “What shall I say to him?” “Give him a shot. Be careful not to hit him; only give him a hint to keep out of way or he will get hurt.”