hington
knows it. Over there to the east 'Red' Fagin, Old Man Kelly, an' their
gangs of Pine Robbers, are making the fields red; sometimes they get down
this far raiding the farms, but mostly, we're fighting foragers out of
Philadelphia, and they're not much better. Half the houses in this
country have been burned, and mercy isn't very common on either side.
Those lads yonder are not pretty soldiers to look at, but they're wolves
to fight, and hungry for it."

"They are called on whenever Farrell wishes?"

"Well, yes; those come who can. They're not always the same bunch. You
see Farrell covers quite a bit of country, with a lieutenant in each
section who is in touch with the neighbors there. I belong in Camden, and
don't go outside very often, but there is a sort of organization all the
way between here and New York. Whenever there is a big fight on, the most
of us get into it somehow. Washington counts on us in a pinch, but mostly
we're raiding or cutting off British supplies. Say, Major, isn't that
those fellows coming?"

He pointed into the east, in which direction the road ran, barely
revealed by the faint light of the moon for perhaps a hundred yards. I
looked eagerly, and could dimly distinguish a vague shadow on the summit
of a distant rise of land. The shadow moved, however, and as we both
stared in uncertainty, there came to our ears the far-off crack of a
whip. We drew farther back against the bank, pausing to make sure there
was no deception. One by one we could perceive those vague shadows
topping the rise and disappearing. I counted ten, convinced they were
covered wagons, and then the night wind brought to us the creaking of
wheels, and the sound of a man's voice. Duval's hand gripped my arm, and
to the signal we crept back beyond the crest, and then hurried down to
where Farrell had concealed his men. He was waiting us in the middle of
the road, his short broad figure almost laughable in the moon shadow.

"Well, are they coming?"

"Just over the crest," replied Duval brusquely. "I counted fifteen
wagons."

"Quite a convoy, an' worth fighting for. Take the left, Duval; Major,
come with me."

We drew aside under the protection of a boulder, from where we could see
clearly to the top of the ridge. Only for a moment was there silence, the
men all about us lying low in their coverts, breathless and intent. There
was a faint ripple of water to our rear where the stream ran, and a
rustle of leaves over