"Who goes there?" demanded the guard.
"Friend, in a tremendous hurry," I replied.
"Advance, friend in a tremendous hurry, and give the countersign."
"I have no countersign; but I am Phil Farringford."
"O, the young fellow that belongs here!"
"Yes; and by this time there are three Indians in a dugout in front of you. Stir up your men, and send two or three of them down towards the landing. Mr. Gracewood and his daughter are there, and the Indians may find them."
"Has the girl been found?"
"Yes; but I can't stop to talk. Wake up your officer."
I hurried Firefly to the barn, and dismounted.
"Who is it? What has happened?" asked Mrs. Gracewood, in trembling tones, as she came towards the stable.