"No; I caught his firelock; it exploded in my hand."
"Look out!" called Mount, from his front seat on the chaise. "The toll-gate's right ahead! There's a camp-guard due there at midnight! Out with your coach-lamps!"
Shemuel jerked open each lanthorn and blew out the lights; darkness hid even the horses from our sight.
A camp-guard! Suppose the gate was closed! Thirty men and a drummer ahead of us!
"Cut the pike!" cried Mount, suddenly. "We save six miles by the old Williamsburg post-road! Turn out! Turn out!"
Far ahead the toll-gate lamp twinkled through the dust; I signalled to Renard and dragged the horses into a trot, straining my eyes for the branch road we had seen that morning. I could see nothing.
"By Heaven! the guard is gone; there's only a sentry there!" said Mount, suddenly.
"Pst!" muttered Renard. "We are the grand rounds, mind you. Answer, Jack!"
"Halt!" cried a distant sentry. "Who goes there?"
"Grand rounds!" sang out Mount.