We reached the hollow where the big tree stood, about midnight, but found little reward. The house on the hill had been burned to the ground. Near the tree, however, we discovered evidence of recent camp-fires, one not yet cold, and apparently there had been quite a body of men camped there lately. Conroy manufactured a torch, and scouted about, finally reporting:
"I don't know how many were here, sir, altogether, but there was a lot o' horses picketed over near the creek. I reckon the last of them didn't leave until dark to-night, an' they rode north toward the main road. There was maybe a dozen in that party."
We followed the general direction the fellows seemed to have taken, Conroy and I on foot, scanning the trail by aid of a pine knot. The dust lay thick on the clay road through the cut, where we had charged the foragers, and it was easy to see the band had turned east. There was but one conclusion possible; if this was Fagin's gang of cutthroats, as I suspected, then they were either returning to their sand caves in Monmouth County after a raid, or else were starting forth on some new project near at hand. Whichever was true, Elmhurst lay in the direction taken. Determined to learn the truth, and wishing now I had more men at my back, we pressed forward, riding rapidly, yet exercising the precaution of keeping two scouts well in advance. It must have been nearly three o'clock when we reached the summit of the low hill within a few hundred yards of the house, and found the two scouts awaiting us.
My first glance across the ravine revealed the outlines of the house above the low trees of the orchard. All appeared peaceable enough, and I felt a sudden relief. There were lights burning on the lower floor, streaming through several windows, while up stairs one window was ablaze. Late as it was, this illumination was not surprising, however, as the care of the wounded man would necessitate night watchers, while, no doubt, Claire would anticipate my reaching there before morning. All this flashed over me, as my eyes hastily surveyed the familiar surroundings. Then I became aware that the older scout was reporting.
"There's quite a bunch of horses picketed down there in the ravine, sir," he said, pointing toward the right.
"How many?"
"Oh, maybe twenty-five or thirty; Joe an' I couldn't get very close as there's a couple of men on guard on top of the bank. A hundred feet down you can see 'em plain against the sky."
"Wasn't what you saw a cattle herd?"
"No, sir," positively. "They're horses, picketed in line like a cavalry troop, and they've got their saddles on."
What this all meant could not be guessed at, but there must be some scheme of deviltry under way. There were no regular troops hereabout belonging to either army, yet the very condition of the country left an open field for the operation of outlaws. Arnold had barely men enough to garrison Philadelphia; Washington was facing Clinton; the militia had been withdrawn, and all this section left entirely unguarded. It was the very moment for Fagin and his kind to carry on their work of murder and pillage.