That night Ned Griffin was aroused from a sound sleep by his mother, who rapped upon the door of his room, and told him in a trembling, excited voice that either Lambert had proved himself a traitor, or else the Pearl River ruffians had stumbled upon some enemy of Mr. Gray who was willing to act as guide, for they had certainly found the cotton and fired it. Ned was thunderstruck. He hurried on the few clothes he could find in the dark conveniently, and ran out to the porch; but when he had taken one look at the bright spot on the sky, which seemed to be growing brighter and larger every moment, and compared its bearings with those of well-known landmarks in the range of his vision, he drew a long breath of relief.
“I almost knew that Lambert did not tell the truth when he assured me he had nothing on his mind,” said Ned to his frightened mother, who had followed him to the porch. “Go back and sleep easy. That isn’t Mr. Gray’s cotton.”
“Are you quite sure of it? How do you know?” inquired Mrs. Griffin. “It must be cotton, for there is no house in that direction.”
“Stand here in front of me and I will show you why I know it is not Mr. Gray’s,” answered Ned. “Now, squint along the side of that post that stands on the edge of the gallery, and bring your eye to bear on that low place in the timber-line. Do you see it? Well, there’s where Mr. Gray’s cotton is. The pile that’s burning is half a mile farther off and a mile farther to the right.”
“Do you know who owns it?”
“It belongs to Mr. Randolph, who has nobody to thank for it but his dutiful son Tom.”
“Ned, do you know what you are saying?” said his mother somewhat sharply.
“I am quite sure on that point. Tom was too handy with his sword in the first place, and with his tongue in the second. He ought to have had better sense than to put such an idea into Lambert’s head. That man can do as much damage of this sort as he likes, and those who don’t know any better will blame the rebel guerillas or the Yankee cavalry for it.”
“Do you think Lambert started that fire?”
“I am as well satisfied of it as though I had stood by and seen him strike the match that set it going. Half an hour more will tell the story at any rate. Now you run back to bed, and I will stay here and watch that low place in the trees I showed you a moment ago. If no blaze appears in that direction I shall know that this is Lambert’s work.”