The gauger's search was very thorough; everything was
topsy-turvy before many minutes had passed, but nothing could he find.
There remained the loft, to which access was given by a ladder somewhat
frail and dilapidated. Up went the gauger, and began tossing down into
the room below the hay with which the place was filled. Quite a good
place in which to hide contraband articles, thought he. And still Stokoe
said never a word. Then, when all the hay was on the floor below and the
loft bare, and still nothing compromising had been found, down came the
gauger, preparing to depart.
"Hey! lassie," at length then came the deep voice of Stokoe; "gie me
Broon Janet."
The little girl slipped behind the big box-bed, and handed out a very
formidable black-thorn stick. Up then jumped Stokoe.
"Ye d----d scoundrel, ye've turned an honest man's hoose upside doon. Set
to, and leave it as ye fand it. Stow that hay where it was when ye cam'
here; and be quick aboot it, or I'll break every bane in your d----d
body."
The gauger backed towards the door, and drew a pistol. But he was just a
fraction of a second too late; "crack" came Stokoe's cudgel and the
pistol flew out of his hand, exploding harmlessly as it fell, and before
he could draw another he was at Stokoe's mercy.
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