pelled to follow, as all the men withdrew from the presence of the barn where the heat was becoming intense. As they came out into the road Robert could see that there were a half dozen more of the redcoats, and they were bending over some object of interest on the ground in front of the smoking ruins of the tavern.
"The man's alive," said some one, looking up as the officer approached.
"Who is he? What is he?"
"I'll tell you who he is," said Brown, stepping forward as he spoke. "He's Jake Gunning, that's who he is. He kept this tavern, and he won't do it again. He's a low down Whig, and his place here was a reg'lar meetin' place for all th' low down men like him. This fellow"—and as he spoke Brown shook Robert by the shoulder upon which his hold had not relaxed—"is an express from the rebels, an' he's stopped more'n once here at Jake's, but he won't do it again."
For a moment the young officer stared at the cowboy, and then without replying he pressed forward and bent low over the prostrate form of the man on the ground whom with a start Robert perceived to be Jacob himself. The cowboys, then, had indeed carried
