the room closed. And as I came in I could scarce believe that he was the
same masterful man I had seen at the council that day, and at the
conference an hour gone. He was once more the friend at whose feet I sat
in private, who talked to me as a companion and a father.

"Where have you been, Davy?" he asked. And then, "What is it, my lad?"

I crept close to him and told him in a breathless undertone, and I knew
that I was shaking the while. He listened gravely, and when I had
finished laid a firm hand on my head.

"There," he said, "you are a brave lad, and a canny."

He thought a minute, his hand still resting on my head, and then rose and
led me to the back door of the house. It was near midnight, and the
sounds of the place were stilling, the crickets chirping in the grass.

"Run to Captain Bowman and tell him to send ten men to this door. But
they must come man by man, to escape detection. Do you understand?" I
nodded and was starting, but he still held me. "God bless you, Davy, you
are a brave boy."

He closed the door softly and I sped away, my moccasins making no sound
on the soft dirt. I reached the garrison, was challenged by Jack
Terrill, the guard, and brought by him to Bowman's room. The Captain
sat, undressed, at the edge of his bed. But he was a man of action, and
strode into the long room where his company was sleeping and gave his
orders without delay.

Half an hour later there was no light in the village. The Colonel's