The two young men, as Tom now found, were Nat and David Collins; they and their father were wood-cutters in the swamps. Tom noticed something furtive in their glances, from time to time, toward the cabin, which stood some little distance away from the scene of the fight. Several times he had made as though to approach it, but they had always prevented this by calling his attention elsewhere. But now they were engaged in attending to their father, who had a painful wound in the calf of the leg, and Tom advanced to the cabin door. At another time he would not have dreamed of prying into their affairs, but those were dangerous days, and a patriot’s safety rested solely upon his alertness--upon his being constantly upon the outlook for peril. The people seemed to be friends of Congress, but Tom had grown so accustomed to assuring himself of everything that he did not trust them until he had discovered that which they seemed so anxious to hide. The interior of the cabin was dark to one just coming into it; so Tom stood in the doorway, his sabre still in his hand, peering about, and waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Suddenly he was startled by a quiet voice saying: “Stand as you are. A movement will be dangerous, my friend, and a sound equally so.” Tom was surprised; for the moment he could see nothing; then he began to make out, but dimly, a couch of furs and pine boughs in a corner; a man lay upon this--a man who had lifted himself up upon one elbow and held a pistol in his hand. The gray of twilight had deepened in the swamp and the dim light that came through the open doorway was not sufficient to enable the man upon the couch to see Tom’s face clearly; then, too, the latter was standing with his back to the light. “You have succeeded in ferreting me out, I see,” said the man upon the couch. “But you have not taken me yet, remember that.” “Who are you?” demanded Tom, his hand clutching, instinctively, the tighter upon the hilt of his sabre. “Don’t pretend ignorance,” said the man. “You have set a price upon my head--or at least your masters have--the butcher Tarleton and Sir Henry Clinton.” At this Tom pressed forward a step; but the voice rang warningly through the room, causing him to halt instantly. “As you are!” said the man, sharply. “It is not wise to approach a cornered man.” “Whoever you are,” said Tom, eagerly, “if you are an enemy of the British you are a friend of mine.” There came an exclamation from the man upon the couch. “Have I made a mistake,” said he. “Surely I heard the sounds of fighting outside. If you are one of us that means that----” “The British have been beaten,” said Tom, finishing the sentence for him. “There were only four of them; two troopers have been wounded, another and Colonel Tarleton are prisoners.” “Tarleton!” The man upon the couch, in his excitement attempted to spring out upon the floor, but sank back with a groan. “I had forgotten; you see my leg is broken.”