These two were the major, our uncle, and Captain Mouzon, owner of the horses we bestrode.
We four were well up to the edge of the encampment by the time I understood we were comparatively alone, and not until then, when the first word was spoken, did I fully realize the situation.
"The Mouzon stables lead!" the captain cried triumphantly, thinking even at that moment of peril more about his horses than himself.
"But the tribe of James are riding them!" the major shouted, and then, as if he had come up through the earth, a Tory horseman appeared directly in front of us.
Two pistols were discharged almost in our very faces—so near that the mane of my horse was singed by the fire, and then this particular enemy was in full retreat.
"It is Major Gainey!" our leader shouted as he struck the spurs into his steed, and before one had time to realize anything more we four were in the very midst of the Tory band, while around us, forming a circle of fire, were the flashes of burning powder.
CHAPTER III.
THE TORY CAMP.
It was the first time Percy and I had ever taken part in a deadly encounter, and, perchance, had there been opportunity for us to consider the situation, one or both might have shown the white feather.
As it was, however, and I have since noted the fact on every similar occasion, there was no opportunity for fear; the fever of excitement was upon us; the odor of burned powder mounted to one's brain, as it were, and we became more like brutes than human beings.