Ardmore, Collins and Cooke rode rapidly away through the wide gates of the estate along the Sapphire road, over which, by his last bulletin, the adjutant-general of North Carolina was marching his troops. They had left Cooke's men with Paul's foresters to guard the house and to picket the banks of the Raccoon in the immediate neighborhood of the camp of the South Carolinians.
"I guess those fellows can hold 'em till morning," said Cooke. "We've got to clean up the whole business by to-morrow night. You can't have two states at war with each other this way without shaking up the universe, and if federal troops come down here to straighten things out it won't be funny."
They had ridden about a mile, when Cooke checked his horse with an exclamation.
"There's somebody coming like the devil was after him. It must be Gillingwater."
They drew rein and waited, the quick patter of hoofs ringing out sharply in the still night. The moonlight gave them a fair sweep of the road, and they at once saw a horseman galloping rapidly toward them.
"Lordy, the man's on fire!" gasped Ardmore.
"By George, you're right!" muttered Collins, moving nervously in his saddle. "It's a human sunburst."
"It's only his gold braid," explained the practical Cooke.
"He must have on solid gold armor, then," declared Collins.