At last we struck a little stream, and followed its course between high banks of pine.  Suddenly Shalah’s movements became stealthy.  Crouching in every patch of shade, and crossing open spaces on our bellies, we turned from the stream, surmounted a knoll, and came down on a wooded valley.  Shalah looked westwards, held up his hand, and stood poised for a minute like a graven image.  Then he grunted and spoke.  “We are safe,” he said.  “They are behind us, and are camped for the night,” How he knew that I cannot tell; but I seemed to catch on the breeze a whiff of the rancid odour of Indian war-paint.

For another mile we continued our precautions, and then moved more freely in the open.  Now that the chief peril was past, my fatigue came back to me worse than ever.  I think I was growing leg-weary, as I had seen happen to horses, and from that ailment there is no relief.  My head buzzed like a beehive, and when the moon set I had no power to pick my steps, and stumbled and sprawled in the darkness.  I had to ask Shalah for help, though it was a sore hurt to my pride, and, leaning on his arm, I made the rest of the journey.

I found myself splashing in a strong river.  We crossed by a ford, so we had no need to swim, which was well for me, for I must have drowned.  The chill of the water revived me somewhat, and I had the strength to climb the other bank.  And then suddenly before me I saw a light, and a challenge rang out into the night.

The voice was a white man’s, and brought me to my bearings.  Weak as I was, I had the fierce satisfaction that our errand had not been idle.  I replied with the password, and a big fellow strode out from a stockade.

“Mr. Garvald!” he said, staring.  “What brings you here?  Where are the rest of you?” He looked at Shalah and then at me, and finally took my arm and drew me inside.

There were a score in the place—­Rappahannock farmers, a lean, watchful breed, each man with his musket.  One of them, I mind, wore a rusty cuirass of chain armour, which must have been one of those sent out by the King in the first days of the dominion.  They gave me a drink of rum and water, and in a little I had got over my worst weariness and could speak.

“The Cherokees are on us,” I said, and I told them of the army we had followed.

“How many?” they asked.

“Three hundred for a vanguard, but more follow.”

One man laughed, as if well pleased.  “I’m in the humour for Cherokees just now.  There’s a score of scalps hanging outside, if you could see them, Mr. Garvald.”

“What scalps?” I asked, dumbfoundered.

“The Rapidan murderers.  We got word of them in the woods yesterday, and six of us went hunting.  It was pretty shooting.  Two got away with some lead in them, the rest are in the Tewawha pools, all but their topknots.  I’ve very little notion of Cherokees.”

Somehow the news gave me intense joy.  I thought nothing of the barbarity of it, or that white men should demean themselves to the Indian level.  I remembered only the meadow by the Rapidan, and the little lonely water-wheel.  Our vow was needless, for others had done our work.