“The barn will answer very well,” agreed Tom. “But open the doors and let us put up our horses; we have had a hard ride, Natchez; man and beast, both, are hungry and tired.” The barn was a good-sized one and very well able to accommodate their mounts. They climbed into the loft, themselves; there were great piles of sweet-smelling hay there, and after Natchez and an old negro slave had served them with a plentiful breakfast, they curled up and slept soundly through the long day. Late in the afternoon Tom awoke; the others were still sleeping; so he climbed down the ladder, and after giving a careful look at the horses to see that they had been well provided for, he made his way to the inn. “Well, Natchez,” said he. “Any news?” “Maybe,” grunted the old man. He was sitting upon a wooden bench that ran along in front of the inn, his legs crossed and his hands clasped around his knee. “There is something?” Tom looked at him, questioningly. “A man was here,” said Natchez. “I think he look for you.” “A man, looking for me!” Tom was startled, and darted a quick look all about. “You must be mistaken.” Natchez shook his head. “No,” said he positively; “he look for you. He come here once, twice, three times. And every time he look for you.” Tom sat down upon the bench and looked at the old man. There was no one, save his own party, who knew that he was at the Indian’s Head--but, stay; perhaps Marion desired to convey some word to him, and suspecting that he would halt at the inn, had sent a rider after him. However, this could soon be ascertained. “Did the man have the signal?” asked he. “No,” answered Natchez, “no signal.” That put the question at rest; the man was not from Marion. “What sort of a man was he?” asked he, at length. “Old man--gray hair--one eye--wooden leg.” At this catalogue of infirmities Tom burst into a laugh. “Well, he must be a peculiar looking person, to be sure,” remarked he. “What did he say?” “Him have paper,” said Natchez. “Him read it. The paper have you on, sure.” Tom was puzzled; the whole affair seemed very queer; perhaps the British had learned--but no; if they knew of his and his companions’ presence at the Indian’s Head, they would have made the fact known by means of a company of dragoons, and not in this way. “He was here three times, you say,” he said to Natchez. The old man nodded. “And he say he come once more,” said he. “Ah!” Tom looked surprised. “Well, in that case I can find out just who and what he is and what he wants.” After a time Natchez went into the inn to attend to some duties; Tom remained upon the bench, playing with a lively pointer pup, which had approached him in a friendly manner. His companions showed no signs of having awakened; the sun was going down behind a wooded rise in the ground and the long, wide road stretched away toward the city dusty and deserted.