Meredith Nicholson

“ They don’t intend to come in here by the front door as a matter of law,” said Larry. “Pickering’s merely using the sheriff to give respectability to his manoeuvers for those notes and the rest of it.”
It was no time for a discussion of motives. We ran across the meadow past the water tower and through the wood down to the boat-house. Far out on the lake we saw half a dozen men approaching the Glenarm grounds. They advanced steadily over the light snow that lay upon the ice, one man slightly in advance and evidently the leader.
“It’s Morgan!” exclaimed Bates. “And there’s Ferguson.” ”

“ Bates ran in to report a summons at the outer wall, and Larry and I went together to answer it, sending Bates to keep watch toward the lake.
Our friend the sheriff, with a deputy, was outside in a buggy. He stood up and talked to us over the wall.
“You gents understand that I’m only doing my duty. It’s an unpleasant business, but the court orders me to eject all trespassers on the premises, and I’ve got to do it.”
“The law is being used by an infamous scoundrel to protect himself. I don’t intend to give in. ”

“ And we deployed from the boat-house, while the attacking party still clung together,—a strategic error, as Larry assured us.
“Stay together, lads. Don’t separate; you’ll get lost if you do,” he yelled.
Stoddard bade him keep still, and we soon had our hands full with a preliminary skirmish. Morgan’s line advanced warily. Davidson, the detective, seemed disgusted at Morgan’s tactics, openly abused the caretaker, and ran ahead of his column, revolver in hand, bearing down upon Larry, who held our center. ”