“Only if they surrender with their hands up and crying for mercy,” answered Cyril.
“I think they will fight to the end,” said Ballard ashe followed Cyril’s careful advance through the woods. “If they are caught, they all face hanging.”
Cyril nodded. “That might make them desperate. And treacherous.” He glanced back at Theodore, Lambert, and Shelton. “You lads be careful.” He looked around. “I was a little worried because the moon is so bright, but we should be all right as long as we stay in the woods.”
In a few minutes they were near enough to see the cabin and barn. All five crouched in the underbrush and watched as one of the men wandered out of the cabin, relieved himself off the end of the veranda, and strolled back inside. The barn was located on the far side of the house, surrounded by several yards of open land. There were no guards posted, and Ballard was sure he could make it to the barn unseen by anyone in the house.
“We will hold off shooting as long as we can, Ballard,” Cyril told him.
“I will give one sharp whistle as soon as I have gotten into the barn and made sure Clover is there,” Ballard said. “One sharp whistle and then ye can start shooting and making all the noise ye like.”
“Good luck. We will wait for your whistle unless they see us and open fire. Then it will be every man for himself.”
Ballard nodded and started to creep forward. He heard Cyril whisper orders to Theodore, Shelton, and Lambert, then heard soft rustles as they made their way to their chosen positions.
Keeping to the shadows of the trees and undergrowth, Ballard made his way toward the barn. Voices drifted from the hayloft. He listened carefully. One sharp comment was Clover’s. An instant later therewas the sound of a slap and a soft cry quickly muffled. It took every ounce of his willpower not to rush to her aid. But he knew any rash action on his part could endanger them all. He could not bolt straight to the barn door. He had to creep up on it from the wooded side, or he could easily be seen by someone in the house. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the place where he had chosen to leave the cover of the trees.
A quick dash across the narrow open space between the forest and the barn brought him to the side of the rough plank building. He rested against the wall for a moment, waiting for any sound indicating that he had been discovered. He drew both pistols from the waistband of his breeches and crept to the corner. He peeked around the side and immediately stilled. A mangy dog, tense and bristling, stood there watching him.
Ballard silently cursed. If he moved, the dog would probably bark and warn everyone of his presence. If he shot the dog, which he was loath to do, the noise would alert the men in the cabin, and, worse, the man now with Clover. He slowly crouched down until he was almost eye level with the animal.
“Easy, laddie,” he murmured as he cautiously extended his hand, palm up.
The dog growled softly and hunkered down. Ballard cursed silently, afraid the dog would sense his tension and react to it.
“Soft now, laddie. I willnae hurt ye. No need to be giving an alarm, eh?”
He kept speaking quietly, hoping the man in the barn could not hear, offering his open hand to the dog. Finally, the dog eased its guard. Still Ballardhesitated, taking more time to assure the animal that he meant it no harm. When the dog finally allowed him to pat it, Ballard knew from its thin frame and half-healed wounds that it had been badly abused. That such a sadly treated animal would accept any friendly approach was pure luck, and Ballard prayed that such luck would stay with him.
As he slipped into the barn, the dog followed. Ballard wished the animal would go away for it might still inadvertently cause an alarm to be raised. Then he turned his full attention to climbing the ladder to the hayloft without making a sound.
