He nodded, seemed to recognize one of the men, and said, “Good evening.” They replied, almost in unison, “Ev’nin’.” He disappeared through the front door, and they could hear him talking to the tavern owner. One of the men, a herdsman named Simon, made a motion with his head, and they all left the porch, walked out of earshot, and turned to one of their group, a visitor from Augusta, who had exchanged glances with the stranger. “That’s the king’s man, who’s been moving from one place to another in this area, mostly trying to convince folks to kiss the governor’s ass. There’s all kinds of stories about him, none of them good. He’s just a damned lieutenant in the British army, but they say he’s the bastard son of Lord North and has more pull with the governor than a bloody colonel. My cousin went to his house across the Savannah River a few days ago, to where the man has been given five thousand acres of land that he’s working with indentured servants he brought over from England about a year ago. I hear he pulled a pistol and shot at one of his neighbors.”

“Then what’s he doing here in Carolina?”

“He’s been debating a man named Drayton, who seems to be a revolutionary, and trying to get people to agree to be loyal to the king, claiming to be speaking for the governor. Some believe he’s trying to find them that’s disloyal to the crown, and particularly to learn if the Liberty Boys have any supporters. Maybe he’s learned that some of them was here last night. Most folks around Augusta just laugh at him, because he don’t seem to know what he’s doing. Governor Wright made him a magistrate, but so far all he’s done is sign a few papers and wander around in Carolina.”

“What’s his name?”

“His name is Thomas Brown.”

The tavern owner came out and called from the porch, “You men come on inside. There’s free drinks for you.”