The assailants hesitated now.
"Ye'd best be off," Luke said; "there ull be a score more here in
a minute."
With oaths of disappointment and rage the assailants fell back and
were about to make off when one of them exclaimed: "Ye must carry
Tom off wi' thee. It ull never do to let un lay here."
The men gathered round a dark figure lying a few yards away. Four
of them lifted it by the hands and feet, and then they hurried
away across the moor. As they did so Bill Swinton with a sigh fell
across Ned's body. In two or three minutes four more men, accompanied
by George and Polly, whose anxiety would not let her stay behind,
hurried up. Luke and his companions had raised Ned and Bill into
a sitting posture.
"Are they killed, feyther?" Polly cried as she ran up breathless
to them.
"Noa, lass; oi think as t' maister be only stunned, and Bill ha'
fainted from loss o' blood. But oi doan't know how bad he be hurted
yet. We had best carry 'em back to t' house; we can't see to do
nowt here."
"Best let them stay here, feyther, till we can stop the bleeding.
Moving would set the wounds off worse."
"Perhaps you are right, Polly. Jarge, do thou run back to t' house
as hard as thou canst go. Loight t' lanterns and bring 'em along,
wi' a can o' cold water."
Although the boy ran to the village and back at the top of his
speed the time seemed long indeed to those who were waiting.
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