“We must remain here until dark,” said Tom.
“It is not an attack upon the city?” asked the old man, eagerly. “Where is Marion?”
“Back in the swamps, across the Santee. We are upon a secret errand.”
“It is dangerous to hide so many,” said Natchez, complainingly. “You will have to be satisfied with the barn; I cannot have you in the house.”
“The barn will answer very well,” agreed Tom. “But open the doors and let us put up our horses; we have had a hard ride, Natchez; man and beast, both, are hungry and tired.”
The barn was a good-sized one and very well able to accommodate their mounts. They climbed into the loft, themselves; there were great piles of sweet-smelling hay there, and after Natchez and an old negro slave had served them with a plentiful breakfast, they curled up and slept soundly through the long day.
Late in the afternoon Tom awoke; the others were still sleeping; so he climbed down the ladder, and after giving a careful look at the horses to see that they had been well provided for, he made his way to the inn.
“Well, Natchez,” said he. “Any news?”
“Maybe,” grunted the old man. He was sitting upon a wooden bench that ran along in front of the inn, his legs crossed and his hands clasped around his knee.
“There is something?” Tom looked at him, questioningly.