“It looks like a schoolhouse,” said the young swamp-rider, “and, if it is, should be deserted at this time. But there is no telling, in these days, for——”
But he never finished the sentence.
A scream rang out from the building at which they were gazing, and almost at the same instant the door burst open and a boy of possibly fifteen darted forth. After him followed a man in the uniform of a British general of brigade, and two soldiers, one of whom carried a rope.
“Stop, you dog,” cried the officer in a high, harsh tone. “Stop, or I fire!”
He held a heavy pistol in his hand; the fleeing lad saw it and stopped, terror-stricken.
“Come back,” directed the officer, a sneer curling his lip at the promptness of the obedience. “Come back, you young hound, and answer the questions which I ask you.”
The boy retraced his steps reluctantly. A girl of about sixteen, meantime, had emerged from the building with two small children clinging to her skirts; fear had blanched all their faces; they gazed, trembling and silent, at the boy and the officer.
“We are needed here, Cole,” said Tom, evenly. “I wonder how many there are in the party at the schoolhouse?”
Cole bent his brows in an expression that expressed his fear that there were more of them than were visible.
“You stay here,” said Tom. “Dismount and have your rifle ready. I’m going over there to speak to those redcoats.”