As he spoke the map of the region unrolled before my memory. This was the road running a mile, or so, to the west of Elmhurst. It led as straight as any, toward Philadelphia, but whatever stragglers the British army had left behind would be found along here. However, they would probably be scattered fugitives, unwilling to interfere with as strong an armed party as this of mine. If I was alone it would be safer to turn aside. Then, it was a strong temptation to me to pass thus close to Elmhurst. It would be after daylight when we reached there; I might even get a glimpse across the apple orchard of the great white house. Would Claire be there? It seemed to me quite probable, as Eric was taking the wounded Colonel home for nursing. The girl's face rose before me against the black night, and my heart beat fast. When I came back, I would ride to Elmhurst--surely she would be there then. The sergeant touched my arm. "Pardon me, sir, but there are horsemen ahead." "Indeed? I was lost in thought, Conroy. Coming this way?" "No, sir, they seem to be travelling south slowly. I noticed them first as we turned the corner back there; I could see outlines against the sky." "How large a party? They form merely a lumping shadow to my eyes." "Not more than three or four, sir, with a covered rig of some kind. They're halted, now; heard us coming, I reckon." I could perceive the little group, but merely as a black smudge. Then a mounted figure seemed to detach itself from the darkness, and advance toward us. "Halt your men, sergeant," I said quietly. "I'll ride forward and learn what the fellow wants." CHAPTER XXIX THE ESCORT The figure of the man approaching was hardly distinguishable, as he appeared to be leaning well forward over the saddle pommel, yet my eyes caught the glimmer of a star along a pistol barrel, and I drew up cautiously, loosening my own weapon. "Who comes?" he questioned shortly, the low voice vibrant. "Speak quick!" "An officer with despatches," I answered promptly, "riding to Philadelphia--and you?" "We are taking a wounded man home," was the reply, the speaker riding forward. "Are you Continental?" "Yes. Major Lawrence, of Maxwell's Brigade." "Oh!" the exclamation was half smothered, the rider drawing up his horse quickly. I could distinguish the outline of his form now, the straight, slender figure of a boy, wearing the tight jacket of a Dragoon, the face shadowed by a broad hat brim. "Unless I mistake," I ventured cordially, "you must be Eric Mortimer." "Why do you suppose that?" "Because while at General Washington's headquarters he mentioned that you had asked permission to take your father--Colonel Mortimer, of the Queen's Rangers--to his home at Elmhurst. You left, as I understood, an hour or two ahead of us. Am I right?" "Yes, sir; this is Colonel Mortimer's party." "Then we will pass on without detaining you longer, as we ride in haste. I met your father once; may I ask if his wound is serious?"