"I was watching the Indians all the time, and Colonel Butler," said Nathan. "So Glass has arrived then? But you don't think he'll give us any more trouble?" Barnabas only shook his head. "McNicol," he said, "stand yonder by the door, an' keep your ears to the wood. Watchin' won't come amiss." The man went to his post, and Barnabas stooped down and lifted the slab. He dropped to his knees, dug rapidly into the dirt with a knife, and lifted out a flat tin box, much rusted. He forced the lid open and handed Nathan a packet of papers sealed with green wax. The lad pressed it reverently to his lips. "I won't look at them," he declared. "The seal shall remain unbroken until I find my father, or until I am satisfied that he is dead." "It would be wise to learn the contents, lad," said Barnabas. Nathan shook his head. "My father's secret is sacred to me," he replied. "If he is alive, he would wish me to guard it, I know. But the papers must not be lost. Will you keep them for me?" [Illustration: BARNABAS HANDED NATHAN A PACKET OF PAPERS] Barnabas readily--even eagerly--assented. The packet was not large, and he thrust it deep down into one of his wide-topped boots. "It's just damp enough not to crackle," he said, as he dropped the slab back into place, and cunningly strewed the ashes over it again--a wiser bit of forethought than he knew. "Now," he added. "We'll be off--" "Hist, men!" McNicol interrupted, in a whisper. "Come hither, quick!" The three joined the Scotchman at the door, but they did not need to ask what he meant. The forest was alive with whispering voices--with the passage of feet over dry twigs and rustling grass. A light danced among the thick foliage. It was too late for retreat, and, as the little band crouched behind the shadowy doorway, they beheld a startling sight. By twos and threes a group of Tories and Indians glided into the glade, close to the spring. The two foremost held a shrinking man between them, and as they came nearer, one said aloud, in a familiar voice that made Nathan shudder: "Is this the place, you rebel dog?" "It's Captain Stanbury's cabin," muttered the prisoner, who had evidently been made to serve as an unwilling guide. "You know what you'll get if you're lying," Simon Glass--for it was he--replied with an oath. "Come, men," he added. "God help us!" whispered Barnabas. "There's no escape unless we kin keep hid. But they're comin' to the cabin, an' Colonel Butler's promise won't count with such fiends. They'll kill every man of us in cold blood." Low as the words were spoken, they reached the ears of the enemy, and a creaking noise made by McCollum's heavy boots completed the betrayal. "There are rebels here!" roared Simon Glass. "Don't let a blasted one escape! Surround the cabin!" "It's all up," cried Barnabas. "Give 'em a volley, an' remember the massacre. Now--fire!" Four muskets flashed and roared, and, as the echo fled down the valley, the night rang with yells of rage and agony.