"Well, if it was at school, we made life miserable for him. On the streets it was generally a crowd fight, for the corners flocked together and the best side won. This boy we just chased I remember perfectly now. He used to carry drinking water around to the British soldiers when they were fixing up their barracks." "For pay, of course? Maybe he had to take the first job he could lay his hands to, so he might keep flesh on his bones. He's starved-looking enough," said Andy. "A job from the Tories!" cried Phil with indignation. "Why, we'd tar and feather one of our crowd if he so much as carried a message for those impudent, roystering redcoats." "Well don't get mad about it," said the easy-going Andy. "This boy was one of the Tory crowd. Why isn't he with them now, I wonder?" "That's it--that's just it," commented Phil excitedly. "What is he doing here at Concord, and acting like some mysterious spy, too? I suppose you'll admit that these are times when a good lot of trickery is going on, as you well know, Andy Sabine. What's more, look at that funny freak of his with the paper of gunpowder. Signals? Experiments? Gunpowder!" pronounced Phil very seriously. "It's in the air everywhere just now, and the word means mischief." "What would the boy be spying on here?" inquired Andy. "That's what we ought to try and find out," answered Phil forcibly. "Here we find him, too, right on the land of old Jasper Bram, a Tory himself. Oh, say, this all means something, you just bet, Andy Sabine." "Hello!" was Andy's vociferous answer and interruption at that same time, and he stood stock still, staring down at the ground. They had reached the spot where they had hidden behind the bushes to watch the boy that had sent aloft that puzzling puff of gunpowder smoke. A disturbing discovery confronted them. Here they had left their hunting traps, and now muskets and game-bags had disappeared. CHAPTER III "HURRAH FOR LIBERTY!" Phil and Andy were very much dismayed at the discovery of the disappearance of their hunting traps. Every boy in Concord who owned a gun was proud of the fact. Lately this sentiment had grown deeper than usual, for the feeling of war in the air, the constant drilling of the local militia, the target practice of the juvenile clubs, had brought firearms to the front in a vivid way. "Well, this is a nice fix, isn't it?" Andy was the first to remark. "Some one has stolen our muskets, that is sure," said Phil. "Perhaps some of our crowd are playing a trick on us." "It doesn't look that way," replied Phil, who had glanced sharply in every direction. "See here, Andy." Phil pointed to a spot where the snow was much disturbed. Then he started along a trail that showed red and plain on the snow-crusted earth surface. "Why!" exclaimed Andy. "It looks as if there had been a terrible scrimmage right where we left the musket. And this--why, Phil, this is blood!"