“But some one will know,” Dorothea insisted. “They couldn’t capture a man who was trying to escape without any one hearing of it. I should have thought we would have heard the noise.” “That’s true, too,” Miss Imogene admitted. “I am usually like a cat, yet I didn’t catch a sound, not even of the troopers riding away. I did fall asleep for a few minutes. However, I know a struggle would have waked me.” “All we can do is to wait,” Dorothea repeated. “And not say a word,” Miss Imogene added, and so it was agreed. Dorothea went back to her room and, taking Miss Imogene’s advice to sleep longer if she could, slipped back into bed again. When she opened her eyes once more Harriot was sitting on the edge of the bed, cross-legged, gazing down at her unwinkingly. “I didn’t say a word,” she protested the moment Dorothea’s eyes were opened. “I promised mother I wouldn’t wake you and I didn’t. I just looked at you—and it was funny to see you squirm.” Dorothea stretched and yawned luxuriously. “Is it very late?” she asked a little conscience-stricken. “Oh, no,” Harriot assured her. “Hardly anybody is up but me, except of course, Val Tracy. He’s always out at daybreak with his troop. But he’s in a fine temper this morning. Somebody stole his best horse right out of our stable.” Dorothea sat up in bed, suddenly very wide awake. She knew of one who had need of a horse and she wondered if any one else would share her suspicions. “Who do you suppose borrowed it?” she asked innocently. “I don’t know,” Harriot answered promptly. “Val insists that it must be one of the negroes in the neighborhood who is taking his freedom and wants to get away. I don’t think that’s it, but of course you can’t tell. It might be Lee Hendon, for all we know. They say he’s out-laying, and he may want to get over into Tennessee. But of course I wouldn’t tell Val that. When he stops treating me like a child, I’ll help him to find his old horse, but not before.”