“And there are the Tories’ rifles, sure enough,” muttered the lad. “No one seems left to watch over them; so I’d best make the move quickly, for there will hardly be a better opportunity.” After a long, last look about to see that no one was observing him, Tom broke from cover and boldly stepped out across the lawn toward the tree where the guns were standing. He deemed it best to attempt the thing boldly; for as it was broad day cunning would be thrown away. The rifles were of the variety provided by the king to his loyal subjects in North America, and were rather heavy. Tom took up the entire nine, however, having left his own light fowling-piece behind in the bush; it was rather a heavy load, but the lad was strong and toughened by constant outdoor exercise, so he managed to carry them off back along the track by which he had approached, and concealed them in a safe place. Not a sound was to be heard anywhere save the low, moaning chant of some slaves at work in a far-off field, and an occasional outburst of rude laughter from the mansion. There was no sign of Cole; Tom stole to a position from which he could view the barn. He, too, saw the man with a rifle, on guard before the big door. “A man on the watch, as I supposed there would be,” muttered the boy. “I don’t think Cole will be able to approach him unseen. But, I wonder----” He paused suddenly, for the guard at the barn door had moved slightly and afforded a clearer view of his face. “It’s Cole!” breathed Tom, excitedly. “Good for him!” He watched for a few moments; but the colossal negro did not move; he might have been asleep on his feet, so quietly did he stand. A renewed burst of laughter just then came from the house and drew Tom’s attention from him for a moment. When his gaze returned once more, Cole had vanished! Tom could not believe his eyes for a moment; but a second glance proved to him that the first had been right. There did not seem to be any place near at hand behind which Cole could conceal himself; and Tom was greatly puzzled. “However,” he muttered, after a time spent in waiting for the great negro to reappear, “wherever Cole is he’ll render a good account of himself; so I need not worry about it.” He made his way back to the front of the Foster house. The lawn was still deserted; no one was in sight, but the boisterous laughter of the Tories within showed that they were still carrying through their, apparently, fixed plan of revelry. “I’d like to get a view of what’s going on,” said the lad to himself. “Mr. Foster has done me many favors and been of great assistance to General Marion and the cause; so I’d risk a great deal to help him in any way that I could.” The more he pondered the matter the more he felt inclined to approach the house; it was a daring thing to do, but a scout for the Swamp-Fox must become accustomed to daring deeds, and Tom had had his share of them.