“Does that put your mind at rest?” asked Martyn. “No, it does not,” I replied, “but it takes responsibility from me.” Sergeant Whitestone called the men, and as we marched over the hill Martyn turned his horse and galloped back toward the army. When he had passed out of sight behind the trees I ordered the men to stop. “Whitestone,” said I to the sergeant, who, as I have said before, was a man of most acute judgment, “do you like this?” “Small liking have I for it,” he replied. “It is the most unmilitary proceeding I ever knew. It may be that our relief is coming, but it should have arrived before we left.” I took out the order again, and after scanning it with care passed it to Whitestone. Neither of us could see anything wrong with it. But the sergeant’s manner confirmed me in a resolution I had taken before I put the question to him. “Sergeant,” I said, “every man in our army knows of what great import it is that no messenger from the British should get through our lines. We are leaving unguarded a place wide enough for a whole company to pass. I think I’ll go back there and resume guard. Will you go with me?” He assented with most cheerful alacrity, and when I put the question to the others, stating that I left them to do as they pleased, all joined me. For what they believed to be the good of the cause they were willing to take the risks of disobedience, and I was proud of them. I looked about me from the crest of the hill, but Martyn was out of sight. We returned to the valley and I posted my men in the same positions as before, my forebodings that it would be a night of action increased by this event. CHAPTER II. A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. Two of my men were stationed near the house, but I had so placed them that they could not be seen by any one inside. I had also concealed our return from possible watchers there. I had an idea, which I confided to Whitestone, and in which, with his usual sound sense, he agreed with me. He and I remained together in the valley and watched the night come. The sun seemed to me to linger long at the edge of the far hills, but at last his red rim went out of sight, and the heavy darkness which precedes the moonlight fell upon the earth. “If anything happens, it will happen soon,” said Whitestone. That was obvious, because if Martyn meditated treachery, it would be important for him to carry it out before the unguarded point in the line was discovered. Officially it was unguarded, because we were supposed to have gone away and stayed away. My suspicions were confirmed by the non-arrival of our relief. Whitestone still took his ease, stretched out on the ground in the valley. I knew he missed his pipe, but to light it would serve as a warning in the dark to any one. I visited the two men near the house and cautioned them to relax their watch in no particular.