"Why, how far is that camp from here?" said Tom, wondering if it was the place to which Captain Roach would forward his conscripts when the orders came.
"About 7000 miles," replied Dick. "At least I thought it was that far before we covered the distance that lies between its stockade and Rodney's home."
"It's about sixty miles, as near as I can judge," said the latter. "Haven't you and what's his name—Roach?—raised men enough to fill up a squad yet? Father says you have been working at it for a good while."
"Captain Roach has mustered some men, but has had no orders to forward them. In fact I don't think he knows that the camp of instruction has been established."
"Who's going to take them there when they are ready to go?"
"I am," said Tom proudly; and an instant afterward he felt as though he had signed his own death warrant. There was no chance for him to back out now. He couldn't be taken suddenly ill or send Lambert in his place—he would have to go with the conscripts himself; for that was what he in his haste said he intended to do, and if he did not keep his promise this old enemy and rival of his would publicly brand him as a coward.
"You are? You are going to take the conscripts to the camp of instruction with your Home Guards?" cried Rodney, his face becoming radiant when he thought of the obstacles in the shape of blue-coated soldiers that Captain Tom might possibly find in his way. "Hey-youp! That will be nuts for the Yanks, won't it, Dick?"
"You bet. There's tolerable many Yanks scattered around through the woods, and like as not your friend will have the pleasure of meeting some of them."
"Do you mean to say that they are scouting between here and the camp?" exclaimed Tom, who was almost ready to drop when he heard his worst fears confirmed in this positive way.