"Amen, mistress," responded the sergeant; "for a surlier, misbegotten piece of flesh, there's not in these wild woods, giving you the choice of bear, panther, catamount, rattlesnake, or what not. We were sot upon," continued the sergeant, "by this bully and a bevy of his braggadocios, and made prisoners; but I took a chance to slip the noose this morning, and after riding plump into a hornet's nest at Blackstock's, where I put on a new face and tricked the guard out of a dinner and this here old sword, I took a course for this mill, axing people along the road where I should find Allen Musgrove; and so, after making some roundabouts and dodging into the woods until night came on, to keep clear of the Tories, here I am." "And the officer?" said Musgrove. "He is in the hands of the Philistines yet--most likely now at Blackstock's." "What might be his name?" "Major Butler--a bold, warm gentleman--that's been used to tender life and good fortune. He has lands on the sea-coast--unless that new-fangled court at Charlestown, that they call the Court of Seekerstations, has made them null and void--as they have been making the estates of better gentleman than they could ever pretend to be; taking all the best lands, you see, Allen, to themselves, the cursed iniquiters!" "Where did you come from with this gentleman?" "A long way off, Mr. Musgrove--from old Virginny--but lastly from Wat Adair's." "Wat's wife is a relation of my family." "Then he is a filthy disgrace to all who claim kin with him, Allen Musgrove. Wat was the man who put us into the wild-cat's claws--at least, so we had good reason to think. There was a tidy, spruce, and smart little wench there--tut, man--I am talking of your own kith and kindred, for her name was Mary Musgrove." "Our girl!" said the dame with an animated emphasis; "our own Mary; what of _her_, Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson?" "That she is as good a child, Mistress Musgrove, as any honest parent mought wish for. She got some sort of inkling of what was contrived; and so she appeared to Major Butler in a dream--or her ghost." "Mercy on us! the child has not been hurt?" cried the mother. "Ondoubtedly not, ma'am," said Robinson; "but it is as true as you are there, she gave us, somehow or other, a warning that there was harm in the wind; and we took her advice, but it didn't do." "I wish the child were home," said Musgrove. "Christopher, at daylight, boy, saddle a horse and be off to Adair's for Mary." The nephew promised to do the errand. "Come, Mr. Robinson, draw near the table and eat something." "With right good heart," replied Horse Shoe; "but it's a kind of camp rule with me, before I taste food--no matter where--just to look after Captain Peter Clinch; that's my horse, friend Musgrove. So, by your leave, I'll just go take a peep to see that the Captain is sarved. A good beast is a sort of right arm in scrapish times; and as God ha'n't given them the gift of speech, we must speak for them."