At that they were silent for an instant, and then the two broke into a laugh.
“Egad, Lowndes,” said the gentleman, “here is a fine mystery. Do you think the boy is lying?”
The other gentleman scratched his forehead.
“I'll have you know I don't lie, sir,” I said, ready to cry.
“No,” said the other gentleman. “A backwoodsman named Trimble went to Rutledge with credentials from North Carolina, and has gone off to Cherokee Ford to join McCall.”
“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the first gentleman. He came up and laid his hand on my shoulder, and said:—
“Where is Mr. Temple?”
“That I don't know, sir.”
“When did he go away?”
I did not answer at once.