In his excursions Tom had discovered many things of a surprising nature. One of these was the fact that there were still some of the partisans of congress who were, as yet, in possession of their estates. As a rule these were very rich and very cautious men; and one of them was Mr. Foster, who owned and cultivated great stretches of land between the Congaree and Columbia. This rich planter had from time to time provided the young scout with valuable information. It was a search for this very desirable requisite of intelligent warfare that brought our two friends upon the edge of the Foster plantation to-day. “From the appearance of the horses,” said Tom, “the visitors are not soldiers. It may be some of our own brigade, Cole.” But the black gestured his doubt of this. Through long practice he had become master of a sort of sign language, and could readily communicate his thoughts to his young master. “Tories,” signaled Cole. “No, no,” said Tom, “they would not dare disturb Mr. Foster. Why, Cornwallis himself has not deemed it wise to do that.” “Tories,” signaled Cole, once more, and this time very positively. “Tories will do anything!” Tom laughed. “You are right in one way, Cole,” said he. “There is not much of a blackguardly or bloody nature that they have left undone, in this section at least. But, all the same, in this case I think you’re wrong.” But Cole remained obdurate; he seemed most unwilling to change his views. They were still discussing the situation, Tom in low, guarded tones and Cole in his not very deft sign language, when suddenly there came a strange, smothered sound from overhead, followed by a crashing of a heavy body through the boughs of a tree, and a man, with a cry of fear upon his lips, tumbled to the ground at their feet. Like a flash Cole had produced his heavy pistol and presented it at the man’s head; but Tom pushed it quickly aside. “It is Dogberry,” said he, quietly. “Put up your weapon, Cole.” Cole glanced at the newcomer, and then a broad grin of recognition spread across his face. It was a negro slave belonging to the Foster place, and he lay flat upon his back, staring at them with great, round eyes, while an expression of mingled fear, amazement and doubt rested upon his ebony countenance. “Well, Dogberry,” said Tom, laughing at the negro’s remarkable entrance on the scene. “Suppose you tell us all about this.” “Mars Tom,” said Dogberry, sitting up, “is dis you, sah?” “Of course it is. And here’s Cole, too.” “Lawsee! I done gone ’most broke my black head!” Dogberry stared up into the tree. “Just look how far I fall, Mars Tom. Just you look up there, sah.” “How came you up in the tree?” “Mars Foster put me there, sah.” “Mr. Foster. Impossible.” “’Deed he did, Mars Tom. I’se telling you de plain truth. He put me up there when de Tory white men comes along to-day.” “Tories!” exclaimed Tom. “Where?”