"And I!" said Grace, who was in advance of the party.
"Stop!" exclaimed True. "Stand where you are until I get the line of the trail."
Agatha stood nearest the tent. Pipe was beyond her and a little to the right. Grace stood some distance from both in a direct line with Agatha.
Fig. 51.—"From a Thistle Stalk a Bit of Gossamer."
"That will do," said True, glancing up at the North Star. "The line runs due north, and straight from the rear of the camp. Start again while I make some inquiries of the Adjutant. Blythe, a word with you. Who was on guard over there, to the north?"
"No one."
"Impossible! Blythe, you couldn't—"
"Stop!" exclaimed Blythe, his voice choking with emotion. "The Captain bade it. And Rodney, and Pipe,—and myself, alas, alas! we all councilled it. The men were weary. A strong picket line entirely surrounded the fort. They were picked men with MacWhirlie at their head. We knew that no force of the enemy lay in our rear. No one dreamed of danger from that quarter."
"Say no more," said True. "Regrets are useless now. I see how it is. A party of stragglers or spies has stolen in here while we slept. Faith and Sophia have been surprised while alone in the tent."