Who has the best horse? Simpson? Well, let Simpson carry the
word down the valley. If my plans are working well, the news should be
at James Town by dawn to-morrow."
The man called Simpson got up, saddled his beast, and waited my
bidding. "This is the word to send," said I. "Say that the Cherokees
are attacking by the line of the Rappahannock. Say that I am going into
the hills to find if my fears are justified. Never mind what that
means. Just pass on the words. They will understand them at James Town.
So much for the Governor. Now I want word sent to Frew's homestead on
the South Fork. Who is to carry it?"
One old fellow, who chewed tobacco without intermission, spat out the
leaf, and asked me what news I wanted to send.
"Just that we are attacked," I said.
"That's a simple job," he said cheerfully. "All down the Border posts
we have a signal. Only yesterday we got word of it from the place you
speak of. A mile from here is a hillock within hearing of the stockade
at Robertson's Ford. One shot fired there will tell them what you want
them to know. Robertson's will fire twice for Appleby's to hear, and
Appleby's will send on the message to Dopple's. There are six posts
between here and the South Fork, so when the folk at Frew's hear seven
shots they will know that the war is on the Rappahannock.
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