Nor in this were we mistaken, for, advancing swiftly until standing within a few paces of our leader, she asked: “Is there one among you lads by the name of Gabriel Marion?” “Ay, and that is me,” Gabriel replied, taking off his hat with a bow such as the gouty king could not have equalled. [Illustration: “‘ARE YOU MASTER DAVIS’S DAUGHTER?’”] “Then I am to say that if you would lay hands upon the lad who escaped you at Black Mingo Swamp you shall go this night, as soon as may be, four miles up the road, where is the dwelling and forge of Reuben Rowe.” “How know you all that?” Gabriel asked, and now he spoke sharply, forgetting his courtly flourishes. “Word was brought by one of Master Rowe’s negroes to my mother, and she sent me here with the message.” “Are you Master Davis’s daughter?” Gabriel asked, still speaking severely, and then, remembering that he was talking to a girl, added in a tone of apology as she replied in the affirmative: “You must remember that it is a strange message you bring, and at such times as these one in the Carolinas fears lest a trap may be set for him.” “Surely you cannot believe that my mother or I would set a trap for lads who, so it is said, have fought as well as men this day,” the girl said, and like the silly that I was, I flushed with pleasure because of her praise. “Not so, nor would I mistrust any of Master Davis’s family, but it seems strange, without questioning the part you or your mother are playing, that word should be sent us regarding a traitor, when, with no more labor, if peradventure Seth Hastings is prisoner, he might be brought here to the plantation.” “To that I can make no answer,” she replied with a smile. “The negro returned at once, having delivered the message to my mother.” Gabriel was silent for a moment, and then he asked, with less of severity in his tone: “Tell me who is this Master Rowe?” “The smith who lives four miles up the road, as I have said.” “But I mean, how is he disposed toward us who oppose the king?” “I have heard it said that he declares this fight is none of his making. He is ready to work at his forge for one side or the other, having no concern in what he calls ‘the quarrel.’ My father neither trusts nor mistrusts him, and more than that I cannot tell you.” Then Gabriel thanked her for having brought the message, and she, after making one courtesy which seemed to include all us lads, went back to the house as rapidly as she had come. It can readily be imagined that our tongues were unloosened immediately she was gone, for verily it was an odd message that had been brought. We argued the matter over and over without arriving at any conclusion, but keeping all the while before us certain questions which we would have answered before setting out on what might be a most disastrous journey.