“The same—and gallant old Webster to nurse him. Poor Ferguson’s death has set us back damnably. You left us at Charlotte—Gates was then at Hillsborough a long way north. Now we’re back at Winnsboro’ and Greene, in Gates’s place, and worth six of him, the devil take him! is at Charlotte. Sumter is out on the Broad, west of us, and Davy is across the Catawba east of us, and it was no small feat, Major, to slip in between them; they’re no fools at the business. And we’re not out of the trap yet. However, if you can ride through the night in spite of your bad arm, we shall be with Tarleton by daybreak. He’s lying, as I said, on Fishing Creek where he defeated Sumter a couple of months ago, but he has a party out watching the fords of the Catawba and Davy will be clever if he surprises him.” “Where’s Marion?” I asked. My curiosity was natural. “Who can say?” Paton answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Wemyss has been hunting him on Lynch’s Creek but to no purpose. Tarleton fancies that he’s back on the Pee Dee now and far to the right of us. I hope it is so. He’s a wily old fox, if you please.” “Well, I must do my best,” I said, “but why have you let Davy and Sumter push in so close to us. That’s not Tarleton’s ordinary fashion.” “Because they’ve more friends than we have,” Haybittle answered dryly. He had reined his horse back to us. “They don’t know when they’re beaten, these Southerners. Since we broke them up at Camden, hanged if things are not worse instead of better! Every hand is against us and some of the hands are in our dish. If we bring you off safe—which way is that fool of a guide turning?” He broke off to shout, “Look out, Carroll, where you are going!—it will be because we have kept a still tongue—a still tongue, Major, and told no one except Tarleton what we were doing!” “Haybittle’s right,” Paton said. “Every movement we’ve made during the last month has been known to Sumter and Davy before we made it!” “Aye, there’s a leak in the vessel somewhere,” Haybittle growled. “And it’s one that nothing but a halter will stop—six feet of hemp is what is needed. My lord is altogether too easy. He is hail-fellow-well-met with too many of these loyalists. There is one or other of them at his ear from morning till night, and not a plan is made but, in place of keeping it to himself, he must needs discover the lie of the land from some Jack Tory or other. My lord learns a little and the Tory learns more, and it is my opinion, he does not keep his knowledge to himself. It’s either that, or we have a Benedict Arnold on our side. And then, the sooner we catch their André and hang him up the better. Sergeant!” raising his voice, “pass on to Lieutenant Carroll to be careful that he takes the right fork at the next ford, and loses no time in crossing that strip of hill! The moon is shining on it.”