So he talked to them as they stood, waist deep, in the stream; the British rode forward firing their pieces and then plunged into the ford. The rear-guard at the word from Marion’s young scout raised their rifles and poured a steady volley into them which emptied many saddles. General Greene rode down to the edge of the stream about this time. Tom saluted. “I’m afraid we cannot save the wagons, general.” “Get more horses,” ordered Greene, who disliked leaving behind supplies of which his soldiers were so much in need. Fresh horses were hitched to the wagons, the teamsters cracked their whips and shouted like madmen; but it was no use. “The wheels are too deeply sunk in the mud, general,” reported Tom. “Cut the traces,” directed General Greene, regretfully; “we must leave them, I suppose.” While the traces were being cut another charge was made by the enemy’s horsemen. The rear-guard under Tom had crossed the ford, and met the charge with steady courage. The deadly rifles spoke with flaming tongues, and once more the dragoons fell back. This time, however, they had approached nearer, and as they were scattering to run Tom caught sight of a face which caused him to start with surprise and then clap spurs to Sultan in reckless pursuit. It was Mark Harwood, in a British uniform, dismounted by the rifle fire and racing desperately to escape. But a dozen bounds of the big chestnut placed Tom alongside his enemy; with a drawn pistol held to his head Mark paused, his face deathly white. “Mercy,” he gasped. “Tom, have mercy.” “You are my prisoner,” said Tom, sternly. “No, no,” cried Mark. “Morgan or Greene would hang me. Let me go. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll tell you where your father is--I know you’ve been anxious about him.” “Where is he?” Tom’s heart beat hard. Since the night of the battle in the bay he had heard nothing of his father and had spent many hours and days brooding upon his fate. “Promise you’ll let me go free,” demanded the Tory, “and I’ll tell you.” “I promise,” said Tom. “He was taken on board the frigate Benbow, which sailed for New York some time ago.” “Are you speaking the truth?” “Upon my honor.” “Your honor!” Tom laughed with scorn. “But go, I give you a minute to get out of my sight.” Mark dashed for the bush and disappeared like magic; Tom turned Sultan’s head and rode back to his comrades. “I thought you were about to take a prisoner,” said General Greene. “We cannot bother with them now.” “It was a Tory cousin of mine, general,” said the scout. “He gave me some valuable information about the whereabouts of my father, and, knowing that you wanted no prisoners anyway, I let him go.” “Quite right. I am glad to hear that you’ve had news of your father. I have heard how he was taken prisoner; he was a brave man. Perhaps we can secure his exchange.” “If we only could,” cried Tom, eagerly. “I would give anything to see him at liberty once more.”