“I can run now,” she whispered to herself, and sped away, her moccasin-covered feet making no sound as she ran. All at once Anne stopped suddenly, for coming down the road toward her were a number of dark figures. They were so near that she could hear the sound of their voices. Anne turned quickly to the roadside and crouched behind a bunch of low-growing shrubs. As the men came nearer one of them said:
“’Twas about here I saw something run into the woods.”
“A fox, maybe,” answered one of his companions.
“Maybe, and maybe not. It’s not the time to take chances of a spy being about with those guns stored at Bill Mains’. I’m going to have a look around here and make sure,” and the man turned straight toward the place where Anne crouched, fairly trembling with fear, for she had heard the man speak of the guns, and was quite sure that these men were Tories, as she supposed Bill Mains to be. She moved unconsciously, and the rustling betrayed her whereabouts, and the man took hold of her shoulder and drew her out into the road.
“Look at this! A little girl! Where’s your father?” he demanded, drawing Anne toward his three companions, who were evidently too surprised to speak. “Where’s your father?” he repeated, giving Anne a little shake.
“He—he’s at sea,” half sobbed Anne, hardly daring to lift her head, and wondering what dreadful fate would befall her if these men should discover that she had just escaped from Bill Mains’ house, and that she knew all about the guns hidden there.
“Don’t be rough with the little maid, Dan,” said one of the men; “it’s early in the evening yet, and no harm in a child being on the road. Like as not she hid there from fear of us. Do you live near here, little one?”
Anne now ventured to look up, but in the dusk could only see that the man who spoke so kindly was bareheaded, while the others wore slouch hats which shaded their faces.