tion. In truth, they had kept watch and ward there for hours, and
night was near at hand, the weary watcher still looking southward with
an anxiety that seemed fast growing into hopeless despondency.

At times, as he waited, a faint, far-off, booming sound was heard, which
caused the lonely cavalier to lift his head and listen intently. It
might have been the sound of cannon, it might have been distant thunder,
but whatever it was, his anxiety seemed steadily to increase.

The day darkened into night, and hour by hour night crept on until
midnight came and passed, yet the lone watcher waited still, his horse
beside him, the gloom around him, the rain still plashing on the sodden
road. It was a wearing vigil, and only a critical need could have kept
him there through those slow and dreary hours of gloom.

At length he sharply lifted his head and listened more intently than
before. It was not the dull and distant boom this time, but a nearer
sound that grew momentarily more distinct, the thud, it seemed, of a
horse's hoofs. In a few minutes more a horseman rode into the narrow
circle of view.

"Is that you, sergeant?" asked the watcher.

"Yes, sir," answered the other, with an instinctive military salute.

"What news? I have been waiting here for hours for the militia, and not
a man has come. I trust there is nothing wrong."

"Everything is wrong," answered the new-comer. "Davidson is dead and the
militia are scattered to the winds. Cornwallis is over the Catawba and
is in camp five miles this side of the river."

"You bring bad news," said the listener, with a look of agitation.
"Davidson dead and his men dispersed! That is bad enough. And Morgan?"

"I know nothing about him."

Sad of heart, the questioner mounted his impatient steed and rode
disconsolately away along the muddy road. He was no less a person than
General Greene, the newly-appointed commander of the American forces in
the South, and the tidings he had just heard had disarranged all his
plans. With the militia on whose aid he had depended scattered in
flight, and no sign of others coming, his hope of facing Cornwallis in
the field was gone, and he was a heavy-hearted man when he rode at
length into the North Carolina town of Salisbury and dismounted at the
door of Steele's tavern, the house of entertainment in that place. As he
entered the reception-room of the hotel, stiff and weary from his long
vigil, he was met by Dr. Read, a friend.

"What!