Seeing that I had taken a man's life for this, the chance of looking in upon a drinking bout¹, you will not wonder that I went aghast and would have fled for very shame had not a sudden weakness seized me. But in the midst I heard a mention of my name and so had leave, I thought, to stay and listen.  
It was one of the late-comers who gave me this leave; a man well on in years, grizzled and weather-beaten; a seasoned soldier by his look and garb². Though his frayed³ shoulder-knot was only that of a captain of foot,'twas plain enough he ranked his comrade, and the knight⁴ as well.
 
"You say you've bagged this Captain Ireton? Who may he be? Surely not old Roger's son?"
 
"The same," said the baronet, shortly, and would be filling his glass again. He could always drink more and feel it less than any sot I ever knew.
 
"But how the devil came he here? The last I knew of him—'twas some half-score years ago, though, come to think—he was a lieutenant⁵ in the Royal Scots."
 
Mine enemy nodded. "So he was. But afterward⁶ he cut the service and levanted to the Continent."
 
The questioner fell into a muse⁷; then he laughed and clapped his leg.
 
"Ecod! I do remember now. There was a damned good mess-room joke about him. When he was in the Blues⁸ they used to say his solemn face would stop a merry-making. Well, after he had been in Austria a while they told this on him; that his field-marshal had him listed for a majority, and so he was presented to the empress. But when Maria Theresa saw him she shrieked⁹ and cried out, 'Il est le père aux têtes rondes, lui-même! Le portez-vous dehors!' So he got but a captaincy after all; ha! ha! ha!"
 
Now this was but a mess-room gibe¹⁰, as he had said, cut out of unmarred cloth, at that. Our Austrian Maria ever had a better word than "roundhead" for her soldiers. But yet it stung, and stung the more because I had and have the Ireton face, and that is unbeloved of women, and glum¹¹ and curst and solemn even when the man behind it would be kindly¹². So when they laughed and chuckled¹³ at this jest, I lingered on and listened with the better grace.
 
"What brought him over-seas, Sir Francis?" 'Twas not the grizzled jester who asked, but the younger officer, his comrade.
 
Falconnet smiled as one who knows a thing and will not tell, and turned to Gilbert Stair.
 
"What was it, think you, Mr. Stair?" he said, passing the question on.
 
At this they all looked to the master of Appleby Hundred, and I looked, too. He was not the man I should have hit upon in any throng¹⁴ as the reaver of my father's estate; still less the man who might be Margery's father. He had the face of all the Stairs of Ballantrae without its simple Scottish ruggedness¹⁵; a sort of weasel face it was, with pale-gray eyes that had a trick of shifty dodging¹⁶, and deep-furrowed about the mouth and chin with lines that spoke¹⁷ of indecision. It was not of him that Margery got her firm round chin, or her steadfast¹⁸ eyes that knew not how to quail¹⁹, nor aught of anything she owed a father save only her paternity, you'd say. And when he spoke the thin falsetto voice matched the weak chin to a hair.
 
"I? Damme, Sir Francis, I know not why he came—how should I know?" he quavered. "Appleby Hundred is mine—mine, I tell you! His title was well hanged on a tree with his damned rebel father!"
 
A laugh uproarious from the three soldiers greeted his petulant²⁰ outburst; after which the baronet enlightened the others.
 
"As you know, Captain John, Appleby Hundred once belonged to the rebel Roger Ireton, and Mr. Stair here holds but a confiscator's title. 'Tis likely the son heard of the war and thought he stood some chance to come into his own again."
 
"Oh, aye; sure enough," quoth the elder officer, tilting²¹ his bottle afresh. And then: "Of course he promptly²² 'listed with the rebels when he came? Trust Roger Ireton's son for that."
 
My baronet wagged his head assentingly to this; then clinched²³ the lie in words.
 
"Of course; we have his commission. He is on De Kalb's staff, 'detached for special duty.'"
 
"A spy!" roared the jester. "And yet you haven't hanged him?"
 
Sir Francis shrugged²⁴ like any Frenchman. "All in good time, my dear Captain. There were reasons why I did not care to knot the rope myself. Besides, we had a little disagreement years agone across the water; 'twas about a woman—oh, she was no mistress of his, I do assure you!"—this to quench²⁵ my jester's laugh incredulous. "He was keen upon me for satisfaction in this old quarrel, and I gave it him, thinking he'd hang the easier for a little blooding first."
 
Here the factor-lawyer cut in anxiously. "But you will hang him, Sir Francis? You've promised that, you know."
 
I did not hate my enemy the more because he turned a shoulder to this little bloodhound and quite ignored the interruption.
 
"So we fought it out one morning in Mr. Stair's wood-field, and he had what he came for. Not to give him a chance to escape, we brought him here, and as soon as he is fit to ride I'll send him to the colonel. Tarleton will give him a short shrift, I promise you, and then"—this to the master of Appleby Hundred—"then your title will be well quieted, Mr. Stair."
 
At this the weather-beaten captain roared again and smote²⁶ the table till the bottles reeled.
 
"I say, Sir Frank, that's good—damned good! So you have him crimped here in his own house, stuffing him like a penned capon before you wring²⁷ his neck. Ah! ha! ha! But 'tis to be hoped you have his legs well tied. If he be any son of my old mad-bull Roger Ireton, you'll hardly hang him peacefully like a trussed fowl²⁹ before the fire."
 
The baronet smiled and said: "I'll be your warrant for his safety! We've had him well guarded from the first, and to-night he is behind a barred door with Mr. Stair's overseer standing³⁰ sentry³¹ before it. But as for that, he's barely out of bed from my pin-prick³²."
 
Having thus disposed of me, they let me be and came to the graver business of the moment, with a toast to lay the dust before it. It was Falconnet who gave the toast.
 
"Here's to our bully³³ redskins and their king—How do you call him, Captain Stuart? Ocon—Ocona—"
 
"Oconostota is the Chelakee of it, though on the border they know him better as 'Old Hop²⁸.' Fill up, gentlemen, fill up; 'tis a dry business, this. Allow me, Mr. Stair; and you, Mr.—er—ah—Pengarden. This same old heathen is the king's friend now, but, gentlemen all, I do assure you he's the very devil himself in a copper-colored skin. 'Twas he who ambushed³⁴ us in '60, and but for Attakullakulla—"
 
"Oh, Lord!" groaned³⁵ Falconnet. "I say, Captain, drown the names in the wine and we'll drink them so. 'Tis by far the easiest way to swallow them."
 
By this, the grizzled captain's mention of the old Fort Loudon massacre³⁶, I knew him for that same John Stuart of the Highlanders who, with Captain Damaré, had so stoutly³⁷ defended the frontier fort against the savages³⁸ twenty years before; knew him and wondered I had not sooner placed him. When I was but a boy, as I could well remember, he had been king's man to the Cherokees; a sort of go-between in times of peace, and in the border wars a man the Indians feared. But now, as I was soon to learn, he was a man for us to fear.
 
"'Tis carried through at last," he went on, when the toast was drunk. And then he stopped and held up a warning finger. "This business will not brook³⁹ unfriendly ears. Are we safe to talk it here, Mr. Stair?"
 
It was Falconnet who answered.
 
"Safe as the clock. You passed my sentry in the road?"
 
"Yes."
 
"He is the padlock of a chain that reaches round the house. Let's have your news, Captain."
 
"As I was saying, the Indians are at one with us. 'Twas all fair sailing in the council at Echota; the Chelakees being to a man fierce enough to dig the hatchet⁴⁰ up. But I did have the devil's own teapot tempest with my Lord Charles. He says we have more friends than enemies in the border settlements, and these our redskins will tomahawk them all alike."
 
I made a mental note of this and wondered if my Lord Cornwallis had met with some new change of heart. He was not over-squeamish as I had known him. Then I heard the baronet say:
 
"But yet the thing is done?"
 
"As good as done. The Indians are to have powder and lead of us, after which they make a sudden onfall on the over-mountain settlements. And that fetches us to your part in it, Sir Frank; and to yours, Mr. Stair. Your troop, Captain, will be the convoy⁴¹ for this powder; and you, Mr. Stair, are requisitioned to provide the commissary."
 
There was silence while a cat might wink⁴², and then Gilbert Stair broke in upon it shrilly⁴³.
 
"I can not, Captain Stuart; that I can not!" he protested, starting from his chair. "'Twill ruin me outright⁴⁴! The place is stripped,—you know it well, Sir Francis,—stripped bare and clean by these thieving rebel militia-men; bare as the back of your hand, I tell you! I—"
 
But the captain put him down in brief.
 
"Enough, Mr. Stair; we'll not constrain⁴⁵ you against your will. But 'tis hinted at headquarters that you are but a fair-weather royalist at best—nay⁴⁶, that for some years back you have been as rebel as the rest in this nesting-place of traitors⁴⁷. As a friend—mind you, as a friend—I would advise you to find the wherewithal to carry out my Lord's commands. Do you take me, Mr. Stair?"
 
The trembling old man fell back in his chair, nodding his "yes" dumbly like a marionette⁴⁸ when the string has been jerked a thought too violently, and his weasel face was moist and clammy. I know not what double-dealing he would have been at before this, but it was surely something with the promise of a rope at the publishing of it.
 
So he and his factor fell to ciphering on a bit of paper, reckoning ways and means, as I took it, while Falconnet was asking for more particular orders.
 
"You'll have them from headquarters direct," said Stuart. "Oconostota will furnish carriers, a Cherokee escort, and guides. The rendezvous⁴⁹ will be hereabouts, and your route will be the Great Trace."
 
"Then we are to hold on all and wait still longer?"
 
"That's the word: wait for the Indians and your cargo⁵⁰."
 
Falconnet's oath was of impatience⁵¹.
 
"We've waited now a month and more like men with halters round their necks. The country is alive with rebels."
 
Whereupon Captain Stuart began to explain at large how the northern route had been chosen for its very hazards, the better to throw the partizans off the scent⁵². I listened, eager for every word, but when the horses stirred behind me I was set back upon the oft-recurrent under-thought of how the gloom did also hide a silent figure lying prone⁵³, with the three bridle⁵⁴ reins⁵⁵ knotted round its wrist.
 
But though the unnerving under-thought would not begone, the scene within the great room held me fast by eye and ear. The master and his factor sat apart, their heads together over the knotty⁵⁶ problem of subsistence for the convoy troop. At the table-end, with the bottle gurgling now at one right hand and now at another, the three king's men drank confusion to the rebels, and in the intervals⁵⁷ discussed the powder-convoy's route across the mountains. The senior plotter had some map or chart of his own making, and he was pricking⁵⁸ out on it for Falconnet the route agreed upon in council with the Cherokees.
 
At this cool outlaying⁵⁹ of the working plan, some proper sense of what this plot of savage-arming meant to every undefended cabin on the frontier seized and thrilled me. I knew, as every border-born among us knew, the dismal⁶⁰ horrors of an Indian massacre; and this these men were planning was treacherous⁶¹ murder on an unwarned people. All was to be done in midnight secrecy⁶². Supplied with ammunition⁶³, the Cherokees, led by this Captain Stuart or some other, were first to fall upon the over-mountain settlements. These laid waste, the Indians were to form a junction⁶⁴ with the army of invasion, and so to add the torch and tomahawk and scalping knife to British swords and muskets⁶⁵.
 
It was a plot to make the blood run cold in my veins⁶⁶, or in the veins of any man who knew the cruel temper of these savages; and when I thought upon the fate of my poor countrymen beyond the mountains, I saw what lay before me.
 
The settlers must be warned in time to fight or fly.
 
But while I listened, with every faculty⁶⁷ alert to reckon with the task of rescue, I take no shame in saying that the problem balked⁶⁸ me. Lacking the strength to mount and ride in my own proper person, there was nothing for it but to find a messenger; and who would he be in a region at the moment distraught with war's alarums, and needing every man for self-defense?
 
At that, I thought of Jennifer. True, he was wounded, too; but he would know how best to pass the word to those in peril⁶⁹. I made full sure he'd find a way if I could reach him; and when I had it simmered down to this, the problem simplified itself. I must have speech with Dick before the night was out, though I should have to crawl on hands and knees the half-score miles to Jennifer House.
 
Having decided⁷⁰, I was keen to be about it while the night should last—the friendly darkness, and some fine flush of excitement which again had come at need to take the place of healthful vigor⁷¹. But when I would have quit the window to begone upon my errand a sober second thought delayed me. If my simple counterplot should fail, some knowledge of the powder-convoy's route would be of prime importance. Lacking the time to warn the over-mountain men, the next best thing would be to set some band of patriot⁷² troopers upon the trail and so to overtake the convoy. Nay, on this second thought's rehearsing the last expedient⁷³ seemed the better of the two, since thus the plot would come to naught⁷⁴ and we would be the gainers by the capture of the powder.
 
So now you know why I should stick and hang by toe and finger-tip and glare across the little space that gaped⁷⁵ between my itching⁷⁶ fingers and the bit of parchment passed from hand to hand around the table's end. If I could make a shift to rob them of this map—
 
It was a desperate chance, but in the frenzy⁷⁷ of the moment I resolved to take it. Their placings round the table favored me. Gilbert Stair and the lawyer sat fair across from me, but they were still intent upon their figurings. Of the trio at the table's end, the baronet and the captain had their backs to me. The younger officer sat across, and he was staring broadly at my window, though with wine-fogged eyes that saw not far beyond the bottle-neck, I thought.
 
My one hope hinged upon the boldness of a dash. If I could spring within and sweep the two candlesticks from the table, there was a chance that I might snatch the parchment in the darkness and confusion and escape as I had come.
 
So I began by inches to draw me up and feel for some better launching hold. But in the midst, for all my care and caution, I slipped and lost my grip upon the casement⁷⁸; lost that and got another on the wooden shutter⁷⁹ opened back against the outer wall, and then went down, pulling the shutter from its rusted⁸⁰ hinges in crashing clamor fit to rouse the dead.
 
As if they were quick echoes, other crashings followed as of chairs flung back; and then the window just above me filled with crowding figures. I marvel⁸¹ that I had the wit to lie quiet as I had fallen, but I had; and those above, looking from a lighted room into the belly⁸² of the night, saw nothing. Then Captain Stuart shouted to his dragoon horse-holder.
 
"Ho! Tom Garget; this way, man!" he cried; and when he had no answer, put a leg across the window seat to clamber out. 'Twas in the very act, while I was watching catlike every movement, that I saw the precious scrap⁸³ of parchment in his hand.
 
Here was the chance I had prayed for. Tom Garget's sword had clattered⁸⁴ down beside me, and with it I sprang afoot and cut a whizzing circle by my doughty⁸⁵ captain's ear that made him cringe and gasp⁸⁶ and all but tumble out upon me. The bit of parchment fluttered down and in a trice I had it safe.
 
You may think small of me, if so you must, my dears, when I confess what followed after. No man is braver than his opportunity, and I had little stomach for a fight with three unwounded men. Hence it was narrowed now to a bold sortie for the horses, and this I made while yet the captain hung in air and sought his foothold.
 
With all my breathless haste it was not done too soon, nor soon enough. When I had quickly freed a horse from the dead hand that held it tethered, and was making shift to climb into the saddle, they thronged⁸⁷ upon me; the captain from his window, the others pouring hotly through the gaping⁸⁸ doorway⁸⁹.
 
I made shift to get astride the horse, to prick the poor beast with the point of sword, and so to break away in some brief dash beneath the oaks. But it was a chase soon ended. As I remember, I was reeling in the saddle what time the foremost of them overtook me. I held on grimly till the horse pursuing lapped the one I rode by head, by neck and presently by withers⁹⁰. Then I turned and would be making frantic-feeble passes with the sword at the man upon his back.
 
It was my plotting captain who rode me thus to earth; and when I thrust he laughed and swore, and turned the blade aside with his bare hand. Then, pressing closer, he struck me with his fist, and thereupon the night and all its happenings went blank as if the blow had been a cannon⁹¹ shot to crush my skull⁹².