"We'll be revenged for this. We know the route he'll take, and will have his life before to-morrow; and you—we'd burn your house over your head, if you were not the wife of Jack Brown."
Brown was a loyal man, who was serving his country in the ranks of Marshall. Thereby hangs a tale, but this is not the time to tell it. Soon the men rode away, taking the poor woman's only wagon as a hearse for their dead comrade.
Night came, and the owls cried in the woods in a way they had not cried for a fortnight. "T'whoot! t'whoot!" they went, as if they thought there was music in hooting. The woman listened, put on a dark mantle, and followed the sound of their voices. Entering the woods, she crept in among the bushes, and talked with the owls as if they had been human.
"They know the road ye'll take," she said; "ye must change yer route. Here ar' the bullet."
"God bless ye, Rachel!" responded the owl, "ye 'r' a true 'ooman!"—and he hooted louder than before, to deceive pursuers, and keep up the music.
"Ar' yer nag safe?" she asked.
"Yes, and good for forty mile afore sun-up."
"Well, here ar' suthin' ter eat: ye'll need it. Good bye, and God go wi' ye!"
"He'll go wi' ye, fur He loves noble wimmin."
Their hands clasped, and then they parted: he to his long ride; she to the quiet sleep of those who, out of a true heart, serve their country.