But since my dear lady would also share the hazard of such a broadside, I had no leave to blow myself and the powder convoy to kingdom come, as I thirsted to—­could not, you will say, having neither pistol to snap nor flint and steel to fire a train.  Nay, nay, my dears, I would not have you think so lightly of my invention.  Had this been the only obstacle, you may be sure I should have found a way to grind a firing spark out of two bits of stone.

But being otherwise enjoined, as I say, I turned my back upon the temptation and held to the business in hand, which was to reach and recross the stream higher up and so to come among the horses.

As I had hoped to find them, the saddles were hung upon the branches of the nearest trees, Margery’s horse-furnishings among them.  At first the black mare was shy of me, but a gentling word or two won her over, and she let me take her by the forelock and lead her deeper into the herd where I could saddle and bridle her in greater safety.

My plan to cut her out was simple enough.  Trusting to the darkness—­the horse meadow was far enough from the fires to make a murky twilight of the ruddy glow—­I thought to lead the mare quietly away up the stream and thus on to the foot of that ravine by which we hoped to climb to the old borderer’s rendezvous on the plateau.  But when all was ready and I sought to set this plan in action, an unforeseen obstacle barred the way.  To keep the horses from straying up the valley an Indian sentry line was strung above the grazing meadow, and into this I blundered like any unlicked knave of a raw recruit.

Had I been armed, the warrior who rose before me phantom-like in the laurel edging of the meadow would have had a most sharp-pointed answer to his challenge.  As it was,—­I had left my sword with Jennifer because the captured trooper whose understudy I was had left his sword in camp,—­I tried to parley with the sentry.  He knew no word of English, nor I of Cherokee; but that deadlock was speedily broken.  A guttural call summoned others of the horse-keepers, and among them one who spoke a little English.

“Ugh!  What for take white squaw horse?” he demanded.

“’Tis the captain’s order,” I replied, lying boldly to fit the crisis.

At that they gave me room; and had I hastened, I had doubtless gone at large without more ado.  But at this very apex point of hazard I must needs play out the part of unalarm to the fool’s envoi, taking time to part the mare’s forelock under the head-stall, and looking leisurely to the lacings of the saddle-girth.

This foolhardy delay cost me all, and more than all.  I was still fiddle-faddling with the girth strap, the better to impose upon my Indian horse-guards, when suddenly there arose a yelling hubbub of laughter in the camp behind.  I turned to look and beheld a thing laughable enough, no doubt, and yet it broke no bubble of mirth in me.  Half-way from the nearest forest fringe to the great fire a man, white of skin, and clothed only in a pair of trooper boots, was running swiftly for cover to the nearest pine-bough shelter, shouting like an escaped Bedlamite as he fled.  It asked for no second glance, this apparition of the yelling madman; ’twas our captive soldier, foot-loose and racing in to raise the hue and cry.