Often they encountered bodies of irregular troops upon the road directing their wearied march toward the headquarters of the patriot army. The victory at King’s Mountain had thrilled the people even as Concord and Lexington had done, and roused them to renewed exertions.
Peggy’s companions were not very cheerful. The man was a rough, kindly, goodhearted fellow, but his wife was a delicate woman, peevish and complaining, whose strength was scarcely equal to the hardships of the journey and the care of the sickly infant who fretted incessantly.
Four days of such companionship wore upon even Peggy’s joyousness. They were by this time some fifteen miles east of Hillsborough, where the remnant of the patriot army lay. The road was lonely, the quiet broken only by the whimpering of the baby and the querulous soothing of the mother. Peggy felt depressed and mentally reproached herself for it.
“Thee is foolish, Peggy,” she chided sternly, “to heed such things. If the poor woman can bear it thee should not let it wherrit thee. Now be brave, Peggy Owen! just think how soon thee will see mother. Can thee not bear a little discomfort for that? And how exciting ’twill be to tell them——What was that?” she cried aloud, turning a startled look upon the mountaineer, who rode a short distance ahead of Peggy and his wife.
“It sounded like a groan,” exclaimed he.
They drew rein and listened. The road ran through a forest so densely studded with undergrowth that it was impossible to see any distance on either side. For a few seconds there was no sound but the whispering of the pines. They were about to pass on when there came a low cry:
“You, whoever you are! Come to me, for the love of God!”
For a moment they looked at each other with startled faces, and then the mountaineer made a motion to swing himself from his horse.
“Joe,” cried his wife, “what air you going to do? Don’t go! How’d you know but what it’s an ambush?”
“Nay; some one is hurt,” protested Peggy.