Watson nodded his head in assent. “It’s a shelter from the rain, at least,” he said, “and that’s something on such a pesky night.” While he was speaking the rush of the rain without confirmed the truth of his words, and suggested that any roof was better than none. Ere long the pine stick burned itself out; the intruders were left in absolute darkness. But they quickly disposed themselves on the floor, where, worn out by the fatigues of the day and the stirring adventure of the evening, they were soon fast asleep. They had closed the door, near which Waggie had settled his little body in the capacity of a sentinel. George dreamed of his father. He saw him standing at the window of a prison, as he stretched his hands through the bars and cried out: “George, I am here—here! Help me!” Then the boy’s dream changed. He was back in the dark woods near Shelbyville, listening to Andrews as the leader outlined the expedition in which they were now engaged. In the middle of the conference some one cried: “The Confederates are on us!” George tried to run, but something pinned him to the ground—a wild animal was at his throat.
He awoke with a start, to find that Waggie was leaping upon his chest, barking furiously.
“Hush up, you little rascal!” ordered George. He felt very sleepy, and he was angry at being aroused. But Waggie went on barking until he had succeeded in awakening Macgreggor and Watson, and convincing his master that something was wrong.
“What’s the trouble?” demanded Watson.
“Listen,” said George, softly. He was on his feet in an instant, as he ran first to one and then to the other of the two windows which graced the cabin. These windows, however, were barricaded with shutters. He hurried to the door, which he opened a few inches. The rain had now stopped, and he could hear, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, the sound of horses moving cautiously through the mud, along the river bank. In a twinkling Watson and Macgreggor were at his side, straining their ears.
“Can it be cavalry?” asked Macgreggor.
“Mounted men at least,” whispered Watson. “Perhaps the Vigilants are on our track, bad luck to them!”
“Can Hare have told them, after all?” queried George.
“Don’t know about that,” muttered Watson, “but I think we have the gentlemen from Jasper to deal with once again.”
“Let’s decamp into the darkness before it’s too late,” said Macgreggor.