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 Sally shook her head. "Nay, I know not how Master Crane did receive his hurt—'twas i' the dark! The other Tory—a Captain Stockton—did fight wi' him, and he fell, wounded—then Stockton swam away!"

"Stockton escaped across the river, ye mean?" snapped Captain Littell.

"Aye, sir!"

There was a brief silence, then the soldier spoke again. "Where be these mysterious saddlebags."

Sally looked at him for a moment, resenting his brusqueness, then she nodded in the direction of the river. "They be lying on the banks o' the Passaic, sir," she told him quietly.

"Zounds!" Captain Camp started to his feet. "There be danger, then, o' the enemy finding them. Boats be not so rare, and the alarm—an the other Tory escaped—must ha' been given. We had best haste, sir!"

But Captain Littell made a negative gesture. "Wait!" he said tersely. "Are ye mad, then, to risk capture? This may be but a Tory ruse! How know ye this maid be not Tory, sent hither by those i' authority? Nay, let us not run ourselves into a trap!"

Sally started forward urgently. "Ah, delay not!" she cried. "E'en now Master Crane may be dying for lack o' aid! And, too, there be danger o' the enemy returning and finding the bullets! Oh, sir,"