Michael Rowan asked the boatman where the chief magistrate of St. Mary's lived, and, on being directed, went straight to the latter's house. To this man he told what had happened in the cabin of the ketch, how Rousby and Talbot had had a quarrel, how high words had passed between them, how Talbot had stabbed the tax-collector, and was now the captain's prisoner. The magistrate was very much alarmed. "There's no knowing what they'll do to him!" he exclaimed with excitement. "Rousby treated us ill, there's no doubting that. But he was His Majesty's exciseman, and the killing of such, even in a righteous quarrel, is a mighty bad business! What's the captain going to do with Mr. Talbot?" "I know no more about it than you," said Michael. "My master bade me give you the true account of what happened, and then told me to ride north to tell Mistress Talbot and help her rouse his friends to do what they could for him. You see he's kinsman to Sir William Talbot, and Sir William is nephew to Lord Baltimore." The magistrate shook his head. "That might be of some avail if this affair concerned the province of Maryland alone," said he. "But Rousby was one of His Majesty's officers,--there's the difficulty." "I must get my horse and start at once," declared Michael. The magistrate went to "The Bell and Anchor" with Michael, helped him put bread and cheese in his saddle-bags, saw him mount his horse, and waved his hand as Michael set out up the village street. When the magistrate went to the water-front he learned that the ketch had weighed anchor and sailed to the south. The night was cold and wet, and the road was dark and hard to follow; but Michael put his horse to the gallop and rode recklessly. His one thought was to reach Talbot's plantation on the Susquehanna as quickly as he could. He rode until it grew so dark that he could not see to avoid overhanging boughs and holes in the road. Then he stopped at the next farmer's cabin, asked for a night's lodging, and was given a place to sleep before the hearth. At dawn he was off again, following the rude trail through the wilderness, making his meals from the food in his saddle-bags, and only stopping when he felt he must rest his horse. That night he spent in a hunter's lodge, the next at a log house on the edge of a small village. He told the people who asked his business that he was on an errand for George Talbot, but he gave them no inkling of what the errand was.