"It's too good to last forever," the lone occupant reflected aloud, stifling a yawn, and he reached out, with careless indifference, toward a bundle of newspapers tied together with a piece of twine and drew one out and spread it across his knees. He yawned again as though the thought of a world whose affairs were stamped in printer's ink bored him immensely; and then the bold head-lines that shouted at him across half a quarter of the sheet caused him to gasp, and his feet struck the bare floor of the cabin resoundingly. He now bent over the paper with the greatest eagerness, muttering as he read, and some of his mutterings were, it must be confessed, not without profane embellishment. TWO COWARDLY GOVERNORS MISSING SCANDAL AFFECTING TWO STATE EXECUTIVES IS THE APPLEWEIGHT CASE RESPONSIBLE? RUMORS OF FATAL DUEL ON STATE LINE He read breathlessly the startling story that followed the head-lines, then rose and glanced anxiously at his watch. "Am I drunk or mad? I must find Osborne and get out of this." He leaped to the open door, and gazed into the forest from a little platform that commanded all sides of the cabin. And there, to his utter amazement, he saw men in khaki emerging cautiously from the woods. They were unmistakably soldiers of some sort, for an officer was giving sharp commands, and the line opened out like a fan along the creek. The observer of this maneuver mopped his head with his handkerchief as he watched the alert movements of the figures in khaki. He was so absorbed that he failed to hear stealthy steps at the rear of the platform, but he was now rudely aroused by two uniformed youngsters with S. C. N. G. on their caps, who sprang upon him and bore him with a crash to the puncheon floor. "You're our prisoner!" shouted one of them, rising when he found that the prisoner yielded without resistance. "What for?" blurted the captive, sitting up and rubbing his elbow. "For being Bill Appleweight, _alias_ Poteet. Get up, now, and come with us to headquarters, or my instructions are to break your head." "Who in the devil are you?" panted the prisoner. "Well, if it's anything to you, we're the South Carolina militia, so you'd better get up and climb." CHAPTER XVI THE FLIGHT OF GILLINGWATER "It will be better for me to break the news to Colonel Gillingwater," said Jerry, "and you must go out and meet the troops yourself, with Mr. Cooke and that amusing Mr. Collins. There is no telling what effect my tidings will have on Rutherford, or what he will decide to do. He has never before been so near trouble as he is now, and I may have to give him first aid to the injured when he finds out that the South Carolina troops are on Raccoon Creek, all ready to march upon our sacred soil." "But suppose your adjutant-general shouldn't go back to his troops after he sees you, then what am I to do?"