By the time they got down to their sober senses, Jim awoke to the fact that a couple of bad men were after him, and were likely to pursue him across the threshold of the farmer’s home.

There was no one present during the affecting interview between the lads excepting the kind host, and he was so touched by the joy of his guests that he more than once drew his hand across his face in a very expressive manner.

When Jim explained his peril, telling how it was he escaped to this place, the farmer said,—­

“You may bid farewell to all earthly fear while you’re here with me.  The old woman is over to one of the neighbors’, and there ain’t no one home but me; howsomever, I’m equal to any two.”

Just then the gate was heard to shut, and the farmer stepped hurriedly to the window and looked out.

“Yes, there’s two men coming up the path.”

“They’re after me,” said the frightened Jim; “let me run out through the back way; I can get away from them.”

“You won’t do any such thing,” was the resolute reply of the old man, while he compressed his lips, and his eyes flashed resolutely.

“This is my home, and the law says it is my castle; and if any man attempts to cross that threshold against my orders, on his head be the consequences.”

By way of making matters consistent, he stepped briskly into the next room; and when he returned, which was in the course of three seconds, he held a loaded double-barreled gun in his grasp.

“It’s well to have something like this to sorter emphasize what you say, you know—­hello!”

The scoundrels were at the door, and a resounding knock was heard.

“Come in,” called back the old man, who stood in the room, gun in hand.

Instead of opening the door, the criminals on the outside knocked again, their evident purpose being to gain an advantage by bringing some one to them.

“Come in!”

This was uttered in a tone that could be heard a hundred yards, and those who were applying for admission could not pretend to be ignorant of such a lusty welcome as that.

The latch was lifted, the door shoved inward, and there the two sailors stood, each with a revolver in hand, looking into the room, but neither venturing to step over the threshold.

We have stated where the farmer stood, and what his pose meant.

Tom Gordon was nearly recovered from his fractured leg, and he, too, had risen from his chair with his pistol in hand.  He told Jim to get as near him—­or rather behind him—­as he could, and if there was to be any shooting, why, he would take a hand.

The sailors could not fail to take in the fact that the three were on their mettle, and something more than a summons was necessary to bring them to terms.

“Well, what do you want?” asked the farmer, in a voice like a growl, while he lowered upon them in the most ominous style.