"No, Tom. At the very moment he fired I tripped over a vine and fell
headlong to the ground. I was still lying there when I heard you fire
your pistol, and then I heard you yell, `Come on, boys', and
recognized your voice; but I was sorely puzzled. I didn't know what to
think. I almost thought I must have dreamed it."

Tom laughed.

"I hit one of the rascals, Dick," he chuckled. "I'll warrant you he
did not think it was a dream."

"Likely no," with an answering chuckle. "Well, let's move."

They set out down the slope, moving at a fair pace, pausing
occasionally to listen. All was quiet, however. The redcoat pickets
had evidently retreated to the British encampment.

When Dick and Tom emerged from the timber, at the foot of the slope,
they were able to go at a faster pace, and they set out in the
direction in which they believed the enemy's camp to be. They walked
onward about half an hour, and then came upon a little clump of trees.
Feeling certain that they must be in the vicinity of the British
encampment, they went in among the trees and stopped.

"Wait here a few minutes, Tom" said Dick. "I'm going to climb a tree
and see if I can see the campfires of the enemy."

"All right."

Dick climbed a tree on the south side of the clump, and looked toward