While we ate, Richard spoke freely of our intendings; and in return Ephraim Yeates was able to confirm Mr. Gilbert Stair’s war news to the letter.  For all his Tory bias and prejudice, it seemed that Margery’s father had spoken by the book.  Gates’ army was crushed and scattered to the four winds; Thomas Sumter’s free-lances had been attacked, worsted and driven, with the leader himself so sorely wounded that he was carried from the field in a blanket slung between the horses of two of his men; and, as was to be expected, the Tories were up and arming in all the north country.  Truly, the prospect was most gloomy and the outlook for the patriot cause was to the full as desperate as King George himself could wish.

“But you, Ephraim, and the chief, here; are you two running away like all the others?” Richard would ask.

The old hunter growled his denial between the mouthfuls of scarce-warmed meat.  “I reckon ez how ’tis t’other way ‘round; we’re sort o’ camping on the redcoats’ trail, ez I allow.  Ain’t we, Chief, hey?”

The Catawba’s assent was a guttural “Wah!” and Ephraim Yeates went on to explain.

“Ye see, ’tis this-away.  You took a laugh out’n me, Cap’n Dick, for spying ’round on that there Britisher hoss-captain and his redskins; but ’long to’ards the last I met up with a thing ’r two wo’th knowing.  ’Twas a powder and lead cargo they was a-waiting for; and they’re allowing to sneak it through the mountings to the overhill Cherokees.”

“Well?” says Dick.

The old man cut another slice of the venison and took his time to impale it on the forked toasting stick.

“Well, then I says to the chief, here, says I, ’Chief, this here’s our A-number-one chance to spile the ’Gyptians; get heap gun, heap powder, heap lead, heap scalp.’  The chief, he says, ’Wah!’—­which is good Injun-talk for anything ye like,—­and so here we are, hot-foot on the trail o’ that there hoss-captain and his powder varmints.”

“Alone?” said I, in sheer amazement at the brazen effrontery of this chase of half a hundred well-armed men by two.

The old hunter chuckled his dry little laugh.  “We ain’t sich tarnation big fools ez we look, Cap’n John.  There’s a good plenty of ’em to wallop us, ez I’ll allow, if it come to fighting ’em fair and square.  But there’ll be some dark night ’r other whenst we can slip up on ’em and raise a scalp ’r two and lift what plunder we can tote; hey, Chief?”

But now Richard would inquire what time in the night the powder convoy left Appleby Hundred, and if Gilbert Stair’s York District guests had traveled with it.  To these askings Yeates made answer that Falconnet and his troop, with the Cherokee contingent, had taken the road at midnight, or thereabouts; and that the Witherbys, with Mistress Margery riding her own black mare, and her maid on a pillion behind a negro groom, had passed some two hours later.

This was as we had hoped it might be; but when Dick’s satisfaction would have set itself in words, the old hunter made a sudden sign for silence and quickly flung himself full length to lay his ear to the ground.  Whereat we all began likewise to listen, but I, for one, heard nothing till Yeates said:  “A hoss; a-taking the back track like old Jehu the son of Nimshi was a-giving him the whip and spur,” and then we all marked the distant drumming of hoofbeats.