Then, when we were alone, the Quaker turned to me.  “Man, Andrew,” he said, “it was a good thing that I had a Bible upbringing.  I can manage the part fine, but I flounder among the ‘thees’ and ‘thous.’  I would be the better of a drink to wash my mouth of the accursed pronouns.  Will you be alone to-night about the darkening?  Then I’ll call in to see you, for I’ve much to tell you.”

* * * * *

That evening about nine the Quaker slipped into my room.

“How about that tobacco-shed?” he asked.  “Is it well guarded?”

“Faulkner and one of the men sleep above it, and there are a couple of fierce dogs chained at the door.  Unless they know the stranger, he will be apt to lose the seat of his breeches.”

The Quaker nodded, well pleased.  “That is well, for I heard word in the town that to-night you might have a visitor or two.”  Then he walked to a stand of arms on the wall and took down a small sword, which he handled lovingly.  “A fair weapon, Andrew,” said he.  “My new sect forbids me to wear a blade, but I think I’ll keep this handy beside me in the chimney corner.”

Then he gave me the news.  Lawrence had been far inland with the Monacans, and had brought back disquieting tales.  The whole nation of the Cherokees along the line of the mountains was unquiet.  Old family feuds had been patched up, and there was a coming and going of messengers from Chickamauga to the Potomac.

“Well, we’re ready for them,” I said, and I told him the full story of our preparations.

“Ay, but that is not all.  I would not give much for what the Cherokees and the Tuscaroras could do.  There might be some blood shed and a good few blazing roof-trees in the back country, but no Indian raid would stand against our lads.  But I have a notion—­maybe it’s only a notion, though Lawrence is half inclined to it himself—­that there’s more in this business than a raid from the hills.  There’s something stirring in the West, away in the parts that no White man has ever travelled.  From what I learn there’s a bigger brain than an Indian’s behind it.”

“The French?” I asked.

“Maybe, but maybe not.  What’s to hinder a blackguard like Cosh, with ten times Cosh’s mind, from getting into the Indian councils, and turning the whole West loose on the Tidewater??

“Have you any proof?” I asked, much alarmed.

“Little at present.  But one thing I know.  There’s a man among the tribes that speaks English.”

“Great God, what a villain!” I cried, “But how do you know?”

“Just this way.  The Monacans put an arrow through the neck of a young brave, and they found this in his belt.”

He laid before me a bit of a printed Bible leaf.  About half was blank paper, for it came at the end of the Book of Revelation.  On the blank part some signs had been made in rude ink which I could not understand.

“But this is no proof,” I said.  “It’s only a relic from some plundered settlement.  Can you read those marks?”