Then she saw him seize the hickory sapling he had leaned against the house,
and burst upon the group like a thunderbolt. Cries of pain, yells, and oaths
of rage rose above the rain of blows. The older members of the crew sought to
close upon him, but he sprung back, and the tough sapling swept about him like
a circle of light. It was a terrific weapon in the hands of a strong man, now
possessed of almost giant strength in his rage. More than one fellow went
down under its stinging cut, and heads and faces were bleeding. The younger
portion of the crowd speedily took to their heels, and soon even the most
stubborn fled; the farmer vigorously assisting their ignominious retreat with
tremendous downward blows on any within reach. Tim Weeks had managed to keep
out of the way till they entered the lane; then, taking a small stone from the
fence, he hurled it at their pursuer and attempted to jump over the wall.
This was old, and gave way under him in such a way that he fell on the other
side. Holcroft leaped the fence with a bound, but Tim, lying on his back,
shrieked and held up his hands, "You won't hit a feller when he's down!"

"No," said Holcroft, arresting his hickory. "I'll send you to jail, Tim Weeks.
That stone you fired cut my head. Was your father in that crowd?"

"No-o-o!" blubbered Tim.

"If he was, I'd follow him home and whip him in his own house. Now, clear
out, and tell the rest of your rowdy crew that I'll shoot the first one of you
that disturbs me again. I'll send the constable for you, and maybe for some
of the others."

Dire was the dismay, and dreadful the groaning in Oakville that night. Never
before had salves and poultices been in such demand. Not a few would be
disfigured for weeks, and wherever Holcroft's blows had fallen welts arose