"Where is my father, Frank?" asked Deck.
"He's down the road with the rest of them; but I reckon they are all marching back to the bridge," replied the coachman.
"What are you going to do with all these horses?" asked Deck, as he began to move on.
"Dunno, Mars'r Deck, what they are for; but Mars'r Lyon sent us for them."
Frank knew nothing about the use to which the horses were to be put, and Deck continued on his way over the bridge. The fire from the blazing boards in front of Fort Bedford sent some of the light across the creek; but it did not reveal the presence of the defenders of the plantation, and the messenger could not see anything of the force. It could not be far away, and he continued to advance.
Just beyond the bridge he met a wagon coming towards him. When it came near enough for him to see it in the gloom, he found that it belonged to the plantation. Three men sat on the front seat, and were chattering at a lively rate as they drew near.
"Who is driving that team?" demanded Deck.
"Me, Mars'r Deck," replied the man who held the reins.
"Who's me?"
"Clinker, sar, wid Bitts and Filly," replied the driver, who was the blacksmith of the estate.