Barnabas readily—even eagerly—assented. The packet was not large, and he thrust it deep down into one of his wide-topped boots. "It's just damp enough not to crackle," he said, as he dropped the slab back into place, and cunningly strewed the ashes over it again—a wiser bit of forethought than he knew.
"Now," he added. "We'll be off—"
"Hist, men!" McNicol interrupted, in a whisper. "Come hither, quick!"
The three joined the Scotchman at the door, but they did not need to ask what he meant. The forest was alive with whispering voices—with the passage of feet over dry twigs and rustling grass. A light danced among the thick foliage.
It was too late for retreat, and, as the little band crouched behind the shadowy doorway, they beheld a startling sight.
By twos and threes a group of Tories and Indians glided into the glade, close to the spring. The two foremost held a shrinking man between them, and as they came nearer, one said aloud, in a familiar voice that made Nathan shudder: "Is this the place, you rebel dog?"
"It's Captain Stanbury's cabin," muttered the prisoner, who had evidently been made to serve as an unwilling guide.
"You know what you'll get if you're lying," Simon Glass—for it was he—replied with an oath. "Come, men," he added.
"God help us!" whispered Barnabas. "There's no escape unless we kin keep hid. But they're comin' to the cabin, an' Colonel Butler's promise won't count with such fiends. They'll kill every man of us in cold blood."
Low as the words were spoken, they reached the ears of the enemy, and a creaking noise made by McCollum's heavy boots completed the betrayal. "There are rebels here!" roared Simon Glass. "Don't let a blasted one escape! Surround the cabin!"