“Yes,” replied the captain thoughtfully; “and if they are, we are quite right. The prisoners have not passed, and I should not wonder if there were an attempt made to rescue them before they reach town.”
Frank’s head began to buzz, and he nipped his horse so tightly that the animal broke into a trot.
“Steady! Walk,” cried the captain; and the next minute he drew rein, to sit peering forward into the darkness, listening for the tramp of horses, which ought to have been heard for a mile or two upon so still a night.
“Can’t hear them,” he said in a disappointed tone. “But we will not go any farther.”
At that moment Frank’s horse uttered a loud challenging neigh, which was answered from about a hundred yards off, and this was followed by another, and another farther away still.
“There they are,” said the captain, “halting for a rest to the horses before trotting down. Forward!”
They advanced again; but had not gone far before figures were dimly seen in the road, and directly after a stern voice bade them halt.
The captain replied with a few brief words, and they rode forward, to find themselves facing a vedette of dragoons, a couple of whom escorted them to where, upon an open space, in the middle of which was a pond, a strong body of cavalry was halted, the greater part of the men dismounted; but about twenty men were mounted, and sat with drawn swords, surrounding a couple of carriages, each with four horses—artillery teams—and the drivers in their places ready to start at a moment’s notice.