n me much trouble.

From these thoughts, trying enough for a starved lad, I fell to thinking
of my father on the frontier fighting the Cherokees. And so I dozed away
to dream of him. I remember that he was skinning Cameron,--I had often
pictured it,--and Cameron yelling, when I was awakened with a shock by a
great noise.

I listened with my heart in my throat. The noise seemed to come from the
hall,--a prodigious pounding. Presently it stopped, and a man's voice
cried out:--

"Ho there, within!"

My first impulse was to answer. But fear kept me still.

"Batter down the door," some one shouted.

There was a sound of shuffling in the portico, and the same voice:--

"Now then, all together, lads!"

Then came a straining and splitting of wood, and with a crash the door
gave way. A lantern's rays shot through the hall.

"The house is as dark as a tomb," said a voice.

"And as empty, I reckon," said another. "John Temple and his spy have
got away."

"We'll have a search," answered the first voice.

They stood for a moment in the drawing-room door, peering, and then they
entered. There were five of them. Two looked to be gentlemen, and three
were of rougher appearance. They carried lanterns.

"That window's open," said one of the gentlemen. "They must have been
here to-day. Hello, what's this?" He started back in surprise.

I slid down from the window-seat, and stood facing them, not knowing
what else to do. They, too, seemed equally confounded.

"It must be Temple's son," said one, at last. "I had thought the family
at Temple Bow. What's your name, my lad?"

"David Trimble, sir," said I.

"And what are you doing here?" he asked more sternly.

"I was left in Mr. Temple's care by my father."

"Oho!" he cried. "And where is your father?"

"He's gone to fight the Cherokees," I answered soberly. "To skin a man
named Cameron."

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?"