down in the
shadow of some bushes, and waited. In a moment the horse and its rider
came in sight, and by the dim light Noel recognized the village doctor,
old Mr. Hedding, astride his white pony. Noel stepped into the road in
front of the pony.

"It's only I, doctor; Noel Duval, grandson to the Widow Marston," he
said, in a whisper. "Don't make any noise! Was everything quiet at the
village when you left?"

"Quiet as usual, and that's quiet enough, for certain. But what's the
matter, lad? Why are you stopping people in the high-road in this way?
And why are you trembling and panting so? That's not like a highwayman."

"They're going to attack the village--raiders from Canada! There's no
time to explain! But you must let me have the pony! I'm all tired
out--and I must get to the village!"

For a moment the doctor scrutinized the boy's face. Then he got down
from the pony. "I was going to farmer Tonwell's, who's down with his
rheumatism again, but he shall wait. I wouldn't do this at every boy's
word, but you look as if you know what you're about, and I will take the
chance."

Already Noel had sprung to the saddle and turned the pony back toward
the village.

"Look out for my saddle-bags," said the doctor. "There's enough costly
drugs in them to kill all the English in Canada. I'll follow on slowly,
and 'twill go hard with you if you've been trifling with me."

But the boy was out of hearing. It seemed as if Providence had come to
the aid of his weak body, and Noel, with renewed hope of reaching the
village in time to give the alarm, urged on the sturdy white pony.

They had almost reached the outskirts of the little town when a man on
horseback rode into the middle of the road, and confronting Noel,
ordered him to stop. Noel thought he recognized the dress of the
Canadian scouts. He bent low on the saddle and struck the pony sharply.
An instant later a rifle blazed in his face. Then he realized that in
some way the white pony had got by the other horse and was galloping
down the road, terrified by the rifle's flash. The scout's pony was
close behind.

The white pony was running as it had not done since it was a colt in
lower Canada, and had carried its habitant master in many a race, and
won them, too. Noel was conscious of a feeling of exultation; for he saw
that the scout was losing ground. He cried out to his pursuer in French,
and started to wave his hand in a derisive farewell. The effort caused a
sharp