“A rich booty came with these prisoners, too, so the report goes,” continued Nat. “A booty that King George’s treasury will never see, I suppose.”
“The Tories make this war an excuse for plunder,” said Tom. “A great many of them are more actuated by a desire to seize upon their neighbors’ goods, than by longing to serve King George.”
Cole, who rode in front, at this point drew rein upon Dando, and held up his hand. All halted immediately. From far off in the swamp came a low, steady sound, a rising and falling that seemed to draw nearer with each passing moment.
“What is it?” asked David Collins, in a hushed voice.
“It’s like the sound of hoofs,” answered Tom. “Hoof-beats in a swamp, I’ve noticed, have a strangeness about them that seems uncanny. The ground is so soft, and the thick growth muffles the sound so. I’ve lain and listened to them many times in the night; they sound all the more strange coming through the darkness.”
But he was not sure that this was the same sound; and they became silent once more and listened attentively. Suddenly a night bird began to wheel in short circles above the tree-top, and its rasping cries broke the stillness abruptly.
“We’ll not be able to make sure while that fellow is about,” laughed Tom. “He seems to object to our presence.”
He dismounted and gave Sultan’s rein to Cole. Kneeling in the narrow road he pressed his ear to the ground, and kept it there for a long time. At length he arose.
“Yes, horses,” said he, “and quite a lot of them. They seem to be coming along the main road, west of here.” He remounted Sultan and sat silently for a moment. Then he continued, “They are going in the direction of the ford that crosses the Congaree near Fort Mott. There is only one reason why a party of the enemy should be heading for Fort Mott at this time, when they have only started out to seek us.”
“I know,” broke in Nat Collins, “I know what you are thinking. It’s the Tories, under Clarage, and they are taking the prisoners, which I spoke of, to the fort for safe keeping.”