The hoof-beats of the party advancing along the western road now sounded distinctly in their ears. There was little wind, but it was blowing in their direction, and it carried the ringing strokes toward them when the approaching riders came upon a stony part of the road; but, as a rule, the sound was thick, dull and heavy, for the ground was soggy, for the most part, and low. “Look well to your primings,” spoke Tom, as they crouched behind the thicket. “And keep your pistols at hand, for we will need a second volley.” Nearer and nearer came the riders; the rumble of wheels could, also, now be distinguished; and soon in the moonlit road they saw about a dozen horsemen, some riding ahead and some alongside a small train of four wagons. “It’s an escort with Clarage’s prisoners, sure enough,” Nat Collins breathed into Tom Deering’s ear. “See, they have all the plunder in the wagons, just as they took it.” The wagons rumbled along slowly, drawn by plodding old plough-horses; the steeds of the escort champed at their bits and pranced impatiently at the slowness of the pace. “Ready,” ordered Tom, in a low, sharp whisper. “I’ll give the word.” The cavalcade was almost abreast of them when one of the escort called out, apparently addressing some one in one of the wagons. “So you thought you would run off up to Virginia, did you, Master Foster, and give us the slip! Well, it’s a rare good thing that I fell in with you, or who knows but you might have fallen in with some dishonest rogues upon the way who might have robbed you of the valuables contained in your wagons.” “It’s Clarage, himself,” said Tom, startled. “And his prisoners are Mr. Foster and his daughter Lucy.” He paused a moment, then leveled his piece over the top of the thicket, his companions doing likewise. “Fire,” he cried. The four leveled rifles were discharged at once; two men fell from their saddles into the road; another, desperately wounded, clung to his horse’s neck as it raced madly away along the road. “Hold your ground,” roared Clarage, his bull-like voice plainly to be heard above all the confusion. His men had drawn together in a group, their horses pawing and fighting for their heads against the tautly-drawn bridles. “The pistols,” whispered Tom. “Fire!”