It was late afternoon when my fresh mount brought me to Salem, and without any hesitation--for I must move while my resolve was high--I galloped out to the Dale house. The low sun extended my shadow to a grotesque length as I flung myself from the saddle and with an attempt at a bold swagger advanced to find the maid. I am sure my bearing suggested confidence, but it was purely physical. Inwardly I was quaking and wondering how I should begin my explanation for this second call. I was a most arrant coward when I mounted the veranda. The carefully rehearsed calm of my leather face vanished and I made the discouraging discovery that my features were out of control. The door of the house was open. I rapped loudly and frowned. A shuffling step, which never could be Patricia's, nor yet heavy enough for Dale, finally rewarded by efforts. A colored woman came to the door and ducked her portly form. I began asking for Patricia, but she recognized me as a recent caller and broke in: "De massa 'n' de young missy done gwine 'way. Dat onery white man gone wif dem." "Gone away? John Ward went with them?" I mumbled. "Which way did they ride, Aunty?" "Dat a-way." And she pointed to the sun, now sliced in half by Walker's Mountain. "You are sure they made for the mountains?" "Dey gwine to slam right ag'in' 'em, den ride ober dem," she declared. So after all my warnings the Dales were foolhardy enough to ride into danger. Ericus Dale would not only stake his own life but even his daughter's on his faith in red men. I recalled Cornstalk's pretended friendship for the whites at Carr's Creek and on Jackson's River and the price the settlers paid for their trustfulness. "When did they ride?" "Two days ergo. Bright 'n' early in de mornin'." I ran to my horse and mounted. As I yanked his head about the servant called after me: "De missy have dem mogasums wif her." The first stage of my journey was to Dunlap's Creek, although there was no certainty that the Dales and Ward were taking that route. I had small doubt, however, but that Dale was bound for the home of his cousin on Howard's Creek. Unless he knew of some secret trace over the mountains he would follow the open trail. He would be more likely to go boldly and openly, I reasoned, because of his belief there was nothing for him to fear. His daughter's convenience would be better suited by the main traveled trails. As I hurried to the west I paused at every habitation and inquired for the travelers. Always the same reply; two men and a woman had been observed.