ld be forthcoming, and where I could probably procure a fresh horse.
It was the nearer town, nestled on the Jersey bank, that I studied with
the greatest care, but, so far as I could see, the single street was
deserted. To the south, certainly two miles away, a squadron of horse
were riding slowly, surrounded by a cloud of dust. Without doubt this was
the British patrol that had left the village at daybreak.

It was a hot, close morning, and the padded Ranger's coat heavy and
tight-fitting. I took it off, flinging it across the saddle pommel. As I
did so a folded paper came into view, and I drew it forth, curiously. My
eye caught the signature at the bottom of a brief note, and I stared at
it in surprise. Fagin! How came Fagin to be writing to Captain Grant? He
pretended to be a Tory to be sure, yet both armies knew him as a
murderous outlaw, plundering loyalists and patriots alike. There came to
me a memory of Farrell's chance remark that Grant had some connection
with this fellow's marauding. I had not seriously considered it then, but
now--why, possibly it was true. I read the lines almost at a glance,
scarcely comprehending at first, and then suddenly realized the base
villainy revealed:

"Have the money and papers, but the girl got away. Will wait for you at
Lone Tree to-night. Don't fail, for the whole country will be after me as
soon as the news gets out about Elmhurst. _Fagin_."

So that was the reason for this raid--Grant's personal affair. He had
returned to Elmhurst, leaving his men to trudge on into Philadelphia
under their Hessian officers so that he might communicate with Fagin. He
had contrived to get Colonel Mortimer to detail him, after the main
column had been started on a false trail, and then he had left his detail
to another, and rode alone to the rendezvous at Lone Tree. There,
doubtless, he had received Fagin's report, with the papers whatever they
were, and then returned to Elmhurst, determined to force his will with
the girl. What had happened then I knew well, for I had been part of it.
What a pity it was I had failed to kill the fellow, instead of leaving
him unconscious.

The papers! Perhaps they were in the coat also. Surely Grant had no time
to change or destroy them, as he must have ridden directly to Elmhurst. I
searched the pockets of the garment hastily, finding a note or two, his
orders to escort Delavan, and a small packet tied securely by a cord. I
felt no hesitancy in opening thi