and howled the terrible demons at the back, who covered with pistols or blunderbuss every Jack Tar in the ditch.
Then another rider appeared on the scene. He was tall, thin, and of ungainly countenance, and he rode a light gray thoroughbred. He was the Scarecrow, and all the devils hailed him by that name as he appeared. Behind him came the packponies, some sixty or seventy in all, and on each pony was a wool pack that would have meant a human neck to the King's hangman if only Collyer were free to work his will. The Scarecrow drew up in the road and watched the great procession of ponies pass along toward the coast. When they had all but passed he gave a signal, and the doors of Mill House barn were opened and ten more heavily laden ponies trotted out and joined the snake of illegal commerce that was wriggling away to the sea. Then like some field-marshal upon the field of battle did the Scarecrow slowly ride over a small bridge and then along the front of his demon cavalry. Jerry Jerk heard him give a short order to Beelzebub as he passed, and then saw him gallop away after the packponies. And then came the ordeal for the King's men, for they were kept in that uncomfortable position for a full two hours, or maybe even longer. Folly to move, folly to fight, there they had to stop—a foolish-looking group of fighting men, if you like, but more foolish had they attempted resistance, for they were outnumbered in men, in arms, and in wits. Once, indeed, did the bo'sun nearly lose his
