The girl had been dreading just such news as her mother had revealed, yet since the conversation with the Squire the day Sally had so unwillingly ridden with him from town, she had been hourly expecting it. Now that the ill news had really come, her present uneasiness was not altogether on her mother's account, nor her own. It was probable that her sweetheart was now affiliated with the band of raiders, yet if this was true, it seemed a little strange that the New Pike gate was the one to be attacked.

When Sally sat down to her sewing a little later, after her various household duties had been attended to for the evening, her thoughts were very far removed from her present work, and she was much more troubled and perplexed in spirit and mind than she cared to show.

At the time she had heard the talk between the Squire and his unknown informant, it was evident that Milton Derr had not then joined the raiders, but from the trend of that conversation it seemed likely he would soon become a member of the band. He was evidently debating the feasibility of joining them. Had he done so, and was he now powerless to change or divert their plans?

It was not alone the news that the gate would be attacked which was troubling the girl, but the further information her mother had given that the plans of the raiders were known, and the Squire was even then in town organizing a posse to resist the attack and capture the band.

Supposing her sweetheart was now a member of it, and some subtle intuition was urging her to such belief, what would be the outcome of it all? This then was the trap the Squire was adroitly laying for his nephew. She had warned Milt of the danger, but had he heeded? The band was probably composed of men he knew well, and was doubtless gathered from the ready material to be found among the rugged hills wherein he dwelt.

There had ever seemed to exist among these people a certain wild spirit of adventure and reckless daring, which one naturally imbibed along with the very air of these free remote hills, and the Squire's nephew was of that restive nature too easily attracted by anything savoring of excitement or danger, such as these lawless escapades might readily furnish.

On recalling a talk she had held with her sweetheart the Sunday evening before, when they rode together from Alder Creek meeting-house, she felt that her very own words may have had some weight in influencing him to cast his fortunes with the raiders. Though she warned him of such a course, yet in almost the same breath she told him of the Squire's prediction that the New Pike gate would be wrecked, leaving her mother and herself homeless, but she wisely said nothing about the Squire's offer of marriage, deeming it prudent to remain silent on this point for the present, at least.

She had appealed to the nephew to do what he could to prevent the destruction of the New Pike gate, and had meant to enlist his aid only so far as the exercising of his influence over any personal friends who might belong to the band of raiders.

As things now stood, a great danger lay in the fact that the posse of men now being gathered together in town, would probably make speedy war on those who threatened destruction to the gate. There would doubtless be fighting, some might be killed, wounded or taken prisoners, and her sweetheart was as liable to be among the first as the latter, if he were a raider. What great relief it would be at this moment to know that he was not connected with those who had lately declared warfare on the toll-gates throughout the country!

If she could but manage to see him, even for a brief moment, a simple word of warning might avert serious trouble. There was still left her a faint chance for such warning to be given, for Milton Derr had gone to town that morning, and she had not seen him return, though it might be that he had passed the gate on his homeward way, while she was busied with her household duties.

She felt a growing eagerness to know if her mother had seen him pass, yet dared not ask. Finally she decided on a little subterfuge.

"Dear me!" she cried, suddenly pausing in her work and glancing at her mother inquiringly, "I forgot to send Phrony that skirt pattern she asked me to hunt for her. Has every one passed living up that way?"

"I s'pose they have," answered Mrs. Brown grumpily. "It's gettin' late, an' if the country folks ain't at home by now, they oughter be."

The girl made a show of hunting up the pattern, then sat down with it and her sewing near the front door.

Several belated travelers passed, some rather the worse for having imbibed too freely of the cup that cheers, but the one she wished to see was not among them. Along toward nine o'clock a small party of horsemen came galloping along the pike, loudly hallooing and firing their pistols as they came, and for a moment the girl thought the raiders were surely at hand.

Then quickly realizing that the cavalcade was coming not from the direction of the hill country, but the town, and that the night was yet too young for raiders to be abroad, she understood that it was merely a drunken crowd on their homeward way, therefore she hurried out and raised the pole, then fled into the house and blew out the light, as the horsemen went dashing by, in a volley of shouts and oaths, like a miniature whirlwind.

Just as the clock was striking nine, and when her mother had once more fallen asleep after her recent rude awakening, the girl's attentive ear caught the sound of a horse's familiar tread, and tiptoeing lightly out on the platform, she softly closed the door behind her and awaited the rider.

She was not at fault in her surmise, for the horseman was the one she had hoped to see, and at her low summons he rode close up to the platform where she stood, all impatient to divulge her message.

"I thought you'd never come, or else that you had already passed the gate without me seeing you!" cried Sally in an eager undertone when he drew rein.

"I would certainly have started earlier if I'd known you were waiting," answered the rider contritely.

"Did you know we are expecting the raiders to pay us a visit tonight?" she asked hurriedly, coming at once to the point.

"Pay this gate a visit?" queried Milt in genuine surprise that proved her words news to him.

"Yes."

"Are you quite sure about that?" he asked thoughtfully, "How do you know it's to be this gate?"

"The Squire came by on his way to town only a little while ago, and told mother. He's gone now to raise a posse of men to guard the gate."

"Here's trickery," thought Milt. "I was led to believe it was to be some other gate for tonight's raid, or else I've got things badly mixed. The Squire said it was this gate?" he added aloud.

"That's what he told mother. I didn't see him. You mustn't ever tell that I told you, never!" she insisted.

"I never will," he declared fervently. "And how did the Squire know about it?" he added thoughtfully.

"I don't know, likely from the man who is acting the spy for him."

"I wonder who that man can be?"

"I don't know, but the Squire's got somebody in his pay who is not only spying on the raiders but on you also. He's acting a double part."

"And you say the gate is to be guarded tonight?"

"Yes, the guards will be here soon."

"Well, perhaps that may scare the raiders away," said the young man reassuringly. "I'm awful glad you told me about it."

"I thought you ought to know," said Sally in a low tone, "for perhaps you have friends that might be interested in such news."

"This gate shall never be molested as long as I can do anything to prevent it," said Milton Derr earnestly, bending sideways until his arm encircled the waist of the pretty toll-taker on the platform; "and if it ever is, you can understand that I am powerless to save it. Good night, sweetheart!"