The Rider of the Black Horse Part 1

THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE

---

---

CHAPTER I
ON THE SHORE OF THE HUDSON

The June day was near its close, and already the shadows of the great hills were lengthening as they were reflected in the waters of the lordly Hudson. Almost like glass the river itself extended, so quiet was the air and so still were the wooded shores. The heat of midday was no longer felt, but the oncoming night promised only a measure of relief, for the air was still sultry and the few thunderheads that had been banked low in the western sky had been scattered, and the heavens were now apparently cloudless.

Not far back from the western bank of the Hudson, a young man, apparently about nineteen years of age, on horseback, was following the rough roadway or path that led to the shore. Both his own appearance and that of the horse which he was riding indicated a weariness that the stalwart and muscular frame ​of the rider could not entirely conceal. It was evident that he had been in the saddle for a long time, and his dust-discolored face, streaked as it was where streams of perspiration had rolled down his cheeks, almost concealed the dark eyes and darker hair that under other circumstances would have been the most noticeable of his features.

"Never mind now, Nero! We 're almost at the place where we 'll get fodder and a chance to sleep, old fellow!"

Almost as if he understood the words and the gentle patting on the neck which his rider bestowed upon him, the little black horse raised and dropped his head as if he were nodding approval, and once more broke into a run.

"No, no, not that," said his rider soothingly. "You 've covered more than a hundred miles since yesterday morning, and you 're entitled to a rest. Besides, old fellow, we 're not done yet. I wish we were at our journey's end and well back on our way, don't you?"

Again the horse threw his head up into the air as he came to a walk, and nervously lifted his feet as he picked his way over the stony road.

"If we get back into Jersey all right, Nero," resumed the young rider, "maybe that Gen​eral Washington will pat you on the shoulder and say, 'My trusty fellow,' just as he did to me. It's worth it all, Nero, if we can only help him a bit, now is n't it?'

Despite his weariness it was a relief to young Robert Dorlon to speak aloud, although his faithful little steed could not make any response. For two days now he had been on his way from the hills of Jersey, where he had left Washington and his army facing the forces which Howe had sent in the early summer of 1777 to try to draw "the rebel" from his stronghold down into the plains, and give the redcoats battle. Of the issue of such a contest Howe and Cornwallis had never a question, and it is a natural inference that their wily foe had none either, for he steadily refused the challenge. Into the hills the redcoats had no mind to go, for the memory of Bunker Hill was still keen among them. However much they were inclined to belittle the courage and skill of the untrained farmers and farmers' boys in the ranks of the defenders of the colonies when they met them, as they did in the battle of Long Island in the preceding summer, it was an altogether different affair when they tried, even with bayonets, to drive them from some stronghold.

​Eager as the redcoats were to catch the illusive forces of "the fox," as the British somewhat suggestively had named Washington, the American commander was equally eager to hold them where they were, or in the vicinity of New York. For the campaign, as it had been planned this year by the British, was one that aroused the keenest anxiety among the American leaders. John Burgoyne, with his great army of redcoats, militia, and Indians, was striving to force his way from Montreal, up Lake Champlain and Lake George, and then on to Albany. At the same time Colonel Barry St. Leger was marching with another army of redcoats and redmen from Oswego, in the hope of sweeping away every vestige of opposition as he proceeded on his way through the Mohawk Valley toward Albany, where he fondly hoped that his forces would join the victorious troops of John Burgoyne.

At the same time, up the Hudson from New York it was believed that Howe or Clinton would come with adequate forces to drive away all opposition, and when the three armies had united at Albany, then the American colonies would be effectively cut asunder, and all that the victorious British would have to ​do, would be to conquer either part at their leisure.

The plan certainly was one that promised well, and Washington's energies were at once directed toward an effort to hold the redcoats in or near New York and prevent them from going up the Hudson to the aid of their northern army, while Howe, Clinton, and Cornwallis were equally busy in striving to accomplish a similar result among their enemies. The early summer of 1777 accordingly became a time when the men of either side were tested as they seldom were throughout the eight weary years of the struggle for American independence.

It became, therefore, of the utmost importance to Washington to know how it fared in the north, and "expresses" were provided,—men who rode swiftly from one American post to the one that was nearest it, and there delivered their missive or message to their waiting successors, who in turn rode swiftly to the next point in the line, while the others retraversed their way with a word from the opposite direction.

In addition to these "expresses," however, Washington was accustomed to make use of certain trusty men who were to go directly from the army in Jersey to the forts on the ​Hudson, or to the army in the north, with the letter that was to be placed directly in the hands of the northern commander, and likewise to receive from him the word which in turn he was to hear back to the anxious leader in the Jersey hills.

Among the men assigned to the latter task was young Robert Dorlon, who already had twice made the journey and now was well advanced on his third. The need of haste on his part had been most impressively emphasized by the commander when he had set forth, and the recollection of his kindly words and confidence was even now, despite his weariness, strong in the thoughts of the young rider. It was General Maxwell who had selected him for the task and had commended him to Washington, confident alike in his strength, his discretion, and his energy. And a chance observer would speedily have declared that all these qualities were marked in the young man's bearing. His physical strength was apparent in every movement he made, his face at once begat confidence, and his manner was dignified despite the twinkle and the mischief that lurked only partly concealed in the dark eyes of young Robert. A frolic or a "rough and tumble" was his delight, and ​as a wrestler his fame had gone throughout the little army stationed in New Jersey. A contest between himself as a representative of a Jersey regiment and a young soldier from Pennsylvania had been arranged for the very day when he had been compelled to leave camp with his message for the army in the north, but his own necessary departure had prevented the meeting, for which he was almost as eager as his friendly and enthusiastic messmates had been for him.

And now as the June day drew to a close, Robert Dorlon found himself near the place where he was no longer to follow the shores of the Hudson, but was to obtain rest for the night at the humble abode of Dirck Rykman. In his former journey Robert had crossed to Peekskill and left a message for sturdy Israel Putnam, who was in command at the time of the patriot forces there, but the recent activities of the redcoats in that vicinity had caused Washington to direct his young "express" this time to proceed farther up the river before he even halted, for all chances were now to be avoided. The rumors and reports from the northern army had been of a character to render the leaders most anxious, and it was deemed wise to insist upon all haste ​in the journey which Robert Dorlon was making. The young man had clearly understood the demands upon him and was keenly alive to the part which he was to take.

The sun had just sunk below the western horizon, leaving behind it a brilliant sky, whose lurid colors Robert clearly perceived portended a morrow that would be even warmer than the present day had been. It was then with a sigh of relief that he perceived the little log house before him, where the young Dutchman with his wife and two little children dwelt. Only once had Robert seen him before, having stopped at his home over night on his most recent return from the north. Of Dirck's devotion to the cause of the colonies General George Clinton himself had been the voucher, and in many ways it was whispered that the young man had already been of aid to the patriots stationed in the highlands.

"Good-day to you, Dirck Rykman," called Robert, as he guided his horse into the pathway that led to the house, which was partly concealed from the sight of a passer-by by the bushes and trees that were in front of it.

Dirck himself he had seen standing in front of his home, leaning upon the handle of his hoe and apparently lost in meditation.

​The young Dutchman hastily changed his position and glanced up at the unexpected hail. In a moment he perceived who his visitor was; but though he advanced to meet him, he was still visibly abstracted or troubled as he grasped the outstretched hand.

"How are the vrouw and the babies?" continued Robert, who, in the thought of the rest from his long ride, was once more in high spirits. "Got room and a bed for me to-night?" he added, as he flung himself from the saddle to the ground, and stood holding his horse by the bridle.

"There is room and a welcome," replied the Dutchman slowly, "but"—

"Take me across the river if it is n't all right," interrupted Robert quickly. "I can find a place on the other side"—

"No. Nein. There is room and a welcome. It is not that." Dirck spoke in low tones and almost unconsciously glanced toward the house as he spoke.

"What is it then?"

"There is somebody here."

"Who?" demanded Robert hastily, though he too dropped his voice.

"I do not know. You shall help me say when you see him."

​"How many?"

"One."

"Where is he now?"

"In the house."

For a moment Robert was silent, minded to ask more questions; but Dirck's suggestion that he could help decide when he himself had seen the man, and the fear that his conversation with the Dutchman might be overheard, caused him to hesitate. As he glanced again toward the house, he was positive that he could see the form of a man even then behind the vine that had been trained upon the lattice-work in front of a part of the house.

"Shall I take my horse back into the woods?" inquired Robert, referring to the concealment of his faithful animal which had been deemed wise on the occasion of his recent visit.

"Nein. No. I will put the horse in my barn. It was already too late to hide him. We shall see later."

"That's good of you, Dirck. You take him and give him a good rubbing down and I 'll run down to the shore for a swim. I 'll not be gone long, and I 'll see to feeding Nero myself when I come back. That's something ​I would n't let my own mother do for you, would I, Nero?" he added, softly rubbing the nose of his horse as he spoke.

Flinging the rein to the Dutchman, Robert ran swiftly down the bank until he arrived at a secluded spot on the shore, and quickly removing his clothing, plunged into the river. For a time he was almost unmindful of his weariness and previous discomfort, as he swam about in the water; but the oncoming night and his uneasiness concerning: Dirck's visitor soon caused him to return to the shore, where he hastily donned his clothing and prepared to return to the house. Before he had climbed the bank, however, he perceived Dirck approaching, and instantly he halted, waiting for his friend to come near.

"How's Nero? Have you rubbed him down?" demanded Robert.

"Yaas. I had some help."

"Who helped you?"

"The man."

"Your visitor?" inquired Robert hastily.

Dirck nodded his head in reply, but did not speak.

"How long has he been here?"

"About an hour."

"What does he have to say for himself?"

​"He wants me to keep him over night and ferry him across the river in the morning."

"Does he say where he's going?"

"He says he was doing somedings for General Clinton."

"He does? Does he say what?"

"No. Nein," replied Dirck, shaking his head.

"Naturally he wouldn't do that. Did he know who you were, Dirck, or did he just chance to stop at your house?"

"I cannot tell. He"—

Dirck stopped abruptly as the sound of a footfall was heard near them, and as both men glanced up they beheld a man approaching. To the unspoken question in Robert's eyes, Dirck quickly nodded, and the young "express" knew that the visitor whose arrival had perplexed and troubled Dirck was before him. He was glad that he had an opportunity to see the man before he spoke, but his hasty glance was interrupted by the stranger himself.

 

CHAPTER II
A PUZZLING INTERVIEW

Standing in the pathway before him, Robert saw a young man a few years older than himself, dressed in the ordinary garb of the country people. The light was too dim to enable him to see the face and its expression clearly, but there was something in the bearing of the man that at once impressed him strongly. That the stranger possessed great physical strength was evident, and as soon as he spoke Robert Dorlon shared in Dirck's suspicions, although he would have found it difficult to explain even to himself why it was that he distrusted him.

"Why did n't you let me know what you were doing?" said the stranger lightly. "I'd have been only too glad to join you."

"It is n't too late now. The water is all here," replied Robert.

"Too late. It's always my luck—just too late for everything."

"Not too late for supper it was," said Dirck soberly.

​"The good wife may think it is," laughed Robert. "Does she know she has two more to feed to-night, Dirck?"

Acting at once upon Robert's suggestion, the three men immediately turned back toward the house, Robert himself hastening in advance of them to the barn, where he fed his black horse,—a task which on his journeys he never intrusted to another. When he, too, approached the house he perceived Dirck Rykman's little girl Mina standing in the doorway, and at once lifting her to his shoulder he entered the room with the child holding fast to his hair while he danced about in pretended pain.

"Oh, Mina," he cried, "you 're worse than a Tory! Let me go, and I 'll see if I can't find something in my pocket. Don't you remember that I promised to bring you something when I came again?" In spite of his apparent carelessness, Robert had glanced keenly at the visitor when he had spoken of the "Tory," but the man apparently was unmoved by the reference and was laughing as heartily as the others when Mina was swung to the floor.

It was some time before Robert discovered the little packages in his pocket and with a ​bow handed one to the little Mina and the other to her mother, whom he had already greeted.

"I don't know very much about the taste of the ladies, but they seem to be somewhat alike," he added laughingly, as with eager hands his gifts were opened and brightly colored ribbons were disclosed in each.

At Dirck's suggestion, however, the little party was speedily seated at the rude table upon which Mistress Rykman had already placed the smoking supper. A lighted candle added its pleasing effect to the plain but tempting fare, and the men were all speedily doing ample justice to the culinary skill of their hostess.

"You 're a stranger in these parts, I see."

Robert looked up quickly as the other visitor spoke, and in the light he could see that the man was keenly regarding him.

"What makes you say that?"

The stranger laughed as he replied, "Your question would be answer enough of itself, if there was n't any other reason for thinking so. The people on the shores of the Hudson don't answer one question by asking another."

"By the same token one would know that you did not belong here, either."

​"Oh, I don't belong here, that's true enough," said the other lightly.

Now that he was enabled to perceive plainly the face of the man, Robert became more strongly convinced that the visitor was one who was abundantly able to protect himself. His face was strong, the glance of his eye was keen, and there was an indefinable something that pervaded him that spoke of a larger experience in life than belonged to most of the dwellers in the colonies.

"Where might your home be?" inquired Robert bluntly.

"It 'might be' in any one of a dozen places, but as a matter of fact it is n't in any one of them."

The laugh of the man was somehow irritating to Robert, but he was not to be turned from his purpose now, and boldly continued his questioning.

"Every one is supposed to be able to give an account of himself in these days." he said soberly.

"A most excellent plan. I was about to inquire who you were and where you came from."

Robert's face flushed slightly as he realized that his own question had been turned back ​upon himself, but he answered quickly, "Oh, I'm not afraid nor ashamed to tell who I am. My name is Robert Dorlon, and I'm the sixth in direct descent to bear the name, too."

"A good name. I once met a man of that name in London. Perhaps he was a relative of yours," he added quizzically.

"It may be. We came from England, or at least my grandfather did."

"But you are Americans now?"

"Every inch of us!" said Robert stoutly, though he perceived even while he was speaking that the man was drawing him on without declaring anything about himself. "Now that I have told you who I am, it is your turn to favor us with a similar word about yourself," he said quietly.

"Oh, I am English born too," said the stranger lightly, "but I don't know that I can say much more. I'm a wayfaring man, and sometimes I almost suspect that I am a fool, too. But whatever else I am, I can assure you that I am a good friend of General Clinton."

"So is every one here," said Robert quickly.

"I suspected as much, and that was one reason why I stopped at the home of Dirck Rykman for the night, and have engaged him ​to ferry me across the Hudson to-morrow morning early. Doubtless you, too, have a similar plan in your mind."

"Are you going to Fort Montgomery?" inquired Robert quickly. "That is where General Clinton is now."

"I'm a wayfaring man, as I told you," said the stranger, the corners of his mouth trembling slightly as he spoke, "and Fort Montgomery may be as good a place for me as any other. You know the way there?"

"Every bit of it. We can go on together. You have no horse, though," Robert added hastily.

"No, I have no horse at present," admitted the stranger quietly.

"Your name, it was what?" inquired Dirck, who up to this time had not taken any part in the conversation.

"My name? Some people might call it 'Legion'—but Russell is the one by which I am ordinarily known. Ever heard the name before?"

"The name, it was known," said Dirck slowly.

"There! I told you it was legion. Everywhere you find it, and every one appears to know it. You don't happen to know of the ​name belonging to any one in this part of the world, do you?" The man was speaking quietly, but as he turned toward Dirck as he spoke, Robert, who was watching him, was impressed that the man's interest in the Dutchman's reply was much keener than it appeared to be.

"I know of one Russell," said Dirck slowly. "I do not know him."

"And perhaps all the better for you," laughed the man. "Where does this particular Russell happen to live?"

"He was not at home."

"So? Gone to join Clinton's men perhaps."

"There was two Clintons. One was in New York and one was not."

For a moment the expression of the man's face changed slightly, or at least Robert fancied that it did, and then he said with a laugh, "I did not think there was but one up here on the Hudson. Sir Henry is so far away I did not think he would count. The only one I thought was of any importance hereabouts is George Clinton the—the commander at Fort Montgomery."

"General George Clinton is there."

"But you can't tell me where my namesake Russell is?"

"He was a wayfaring man and one fool." ​The expression on Dirck's face was bland and innocent, but the stranger glanced keenly at him before he spoke.

"Oh? you think he is one of the 'Legion,' too, do you? Well, I want to run across him some day. I should like to see how one of the family looked after living in this co—region for a while. Just now I think I 'll let him rest, and I 'll take mine too, if you are willing. I am tired, and must be stirring early to-morrow morning. What time shall we start?" he added, turning to Robert.

"Before sunrise," said Robert.

"That will suit me. I have no horse and we may not journey far together, but I hope to have one soon, and it may be that we shall have other meetings also. I bid you all good-night," he added, as he took the candle which Dirck had lighted and followed his host to the loft.

Robert still was seated at the table when Dirck returned to the room, and his thoughts were far from pleasing. He blamed himself for having so quickly revealed his name and the journey he was making. He had too quickly assumed that the General Clinton to whom Russell declared he was going was the same general who naturally was uppermost in his own mind. Besides he was now suspicious ​of the man, whose confidence in himself and his easy manners proclaimed an ability to care for himself and an apparent absence of fear that somehow were not reassuring to the young soldier.

His thoughts were interrupted by the return of Dirck, who placed his candle on the table, and taking a seat close to Robert's, said, as he shook his head, "I likes it not, Robert. He was too much talk. Which General Clinton is he going to see?"

"If it was Sir Henry he would not be here. He'd be nearer New York," suggested Robert, in reality striving to reassure himself.

"But he comes from up the river."

"He did?"

"We must talk low," admonished Dirck, whose voice was not much above a whisper. "And he was a Russell, too."

"What has that to do with it?"

"Perhaps sometimes you will read one letter," replied Dirck, as he drew from his pocket a discolored piece of paper and handed it to his friend. Robert eagerly grasped the epistle, and spreading it out before him, with difficulty made out the following letter:—^[1]

​

June 14th, 1777.

Honorad Sir:—a Cordoing to your orders I went with a part of the Light hors in Sarch of Russell; when I come within a Mile and a half of his hous I aplied to Mr. Conklon; ho was acquented with him and sent 2 of the Light hors with him in disgis afoot; as the went thru the woods ner Russells hous the met a man in the woods and the seemed to be Surprised; he told them not to frited; asked them from whence the Come; the Replayd from New York; he told them the need not be afred; the was all good frends about there and asked what news from New York and wither general How was Coming up the River or not; with that there was a woman apered; he told them to Clap down and hid, when the woman Come near he sed the need not be afred for that was one Russells wife and that hir Husbant was gon off Las night to New York, and if he had been at hom wald been very glad to have seen them; he had been at hom for sum time but had not been in his hous but three nights; this man Invited them hom with him, but the Sead that the darst not; the must go the Mountains; he sed that he had Last winter Carred provisions for 10 or 12 in the Mount's and in the spring ​the set of for New York. Mr. Conklin went privately Inquiring for Creaters he had Lost; and from all he Cold Larn he thinks he has gon off; I believe ther is no sesposhin that we wer after him, as for Wood I did not Know wither to go in Sarch of him or no for fear of discovring the mater; I shall weight the generals advise about Wood, wither it is best to go and sarch for the money or not. I am your Honors most obedant ombel Servant,

Sam'l Logan.

To General George Clinton.

"Where and how did you get this?" inquired Robert in a whisper, after he had deciphered the discolored epistle with great difficulty.

"To-day. I knew you were coming and so I waited, for you can take it to the general to-morrow."

"And this man Russell who is here"—

"I do not know."

"Do you think he is the Tory?"

"He may be, or he may be one sent out to meet him."

"Have you ever seen this man before?"

"No. Nein."

"Or the Russell who lives near here?"

​"Nein. No."

"I know what I 'll do, I 'll"—

Robert stopped abruptly, as a sound outside the house was heard which caused both men to rise hastily and move swiftly and yet cautiously to the door in the rear of the room.

1. ↑ This letter is an exact reproduction of one which was sent General George Clinton. Even the unique spelling has been retained.

CHAPTER III
AN ADVENTURE WITH THE COWBOYS

A sound, faint and yet distinct, had been heard by both men coming from the road, and when they heard it repeated they rushed from the house, a great fear having suddenly seized upon Robert. Neither spoke for a moment as they discerned the outlines of a horse led by a man, who was holding the animal by the bridle, disappearing around the bend of the road.

"You don't suppose it's my horse, do you?" inquired Robert in a whisper.

Dirck made no response as he darted back into the house and hastily mounted the ladder that led to the room above. Robert followed his friend into the house, but waited with such calmness as he could assume for the report to be made.

"Come, Robert, come up here," called Dirck from the loft.

With feverish haste Robert clambered up the ladder, and as he stepped out upon the floor he required no further explanation, for ​the man was gone. A low open window was in one end of the room, and running to it Robert peered out at the ground below him. It was not more than eight or nine feet from the window to the ground, and the stranger might easily have departed from the house by dropping from the opening.

Convinced that Russell had disappeared in this manner, Robert instantly followed his example; and as soon as he felt the grass beneath his feet he ran swiftly to the little barn, and, flinging open the door, peered eagerly within. His worst fears were confirmed, for his horse was no longer there. For a moment he stood stupidly staring at the stall where a few moments before he had left Nero to enjoy his well-earned rest; but he was roused from his lethargy by the approach of the young Dutchman.

"He's stolen my horse, Dirck! The rascal has got away with Nero!"

"Yes, it was so," replied Dirck, gazing quietly into the empty stall.

"The villain! I wish I had him here. I'd break the Tory's neck!" exclaimed Robert, now almost beside himself with anger.

"But here he was not."

"I can get him! I must get him! I know ​in which direction he went! Have n't you a horse anywhere about the place?"

"No. Nein."

"I must go without one, then!" exclaimed Robert. "I must get Nero again! I can't go on without him! I 'll be back—sometime," he called; and almost before the startled Dirck was aware of what was occurring, Robert had turned and fled from the barn and was running swiftly along the road in the direction in which the faint outlines of the man and beast had disappeared a few moments before.

There were no plans in the mind of the furious young soldier, only a wild impulse to follow until he had overtaken the thief and secured his stolen horse. In his belt was the pistol he had carried with him, but both belt and pistol were in Dirck's house, where he had left them when he had seated himself at the supper-table. He was consequently unarmed, but he had no thought of weapons or what might befall if he was so fortunate as to overtake the man who had made off with his horse. For the moment his wild rage seemed to provide all the weapons he required, and he ran on and on until at last he was compelled to stop and regain his breath.

Not a trace of man or horse had he secured. ​The moon had risen by this time, and above the border of the tall trees that grew close to the roadside was casting its beams over the land until it was almost as light as day about him. For the first time the thought of the folly of an attempt to pursue a man who was mounted on the back of such a horse as Nero swept over him. It was useless, but Robert Dorlon did not feel that he could as yet abandon the attempt, and as soon as he had in a measure recovered from the violence of his exertions he resumed the pursuit, although now he was not running so swiftly as when he had first started. Occasional glimpses of the river were had in the moonlight, and at several places he halted to peer keenly down the banks, hoping and yet not expecting to discover the man in hiding somewhere near. It was not likely, he assured himself, that the man would stop soon, unless he should perceive how nearly winded his horse was; but the brief rest had doubtless prepared Nero for a swift pace, at least for a time.

The first feelings of anger were gone now, and Robert, as he still kept on his way, was striving to think out the plan which Russell would be most likely to adopt. Doubtless he would endeavor to place a good distance be​tween himself and Dirck's house first of all, and then, secure in the belief that he could not be successfully followed by men who were not mounted, he would strive to cross the river and go on to New York on the opposite side.

But to cross the Hudson he must have aid, and Robert strove to think of the most probable places where he could secure some one to ferry him and his stolen horse to the eastern shore. Four or five miles down the river there was just such a ferry; and if he could only gain it before Russell should succeed in arranging for the crossing, there might be still some hope. The man would have to rouse the ferryman; there was a bare possibility that the latter might not be at home; there were other delays that might occur, and in the thought Robert once more increased the speed at which he was moving. He had entered a darker part of the rough roadway, where the tall trees shut out the moonlight on either side, but a hundred feet in advance of him he could see that the road led one into a broader place where the light was clearer and the dark trees were not so close to the border. For the first time Robert thought of his own safety and became aware of his defenseless condition. Hardly conscious of ​what he was doing, he stooped and picked up a stout club and proceeded with increased caution on his way. He glanced keenly about him as he entered the narrower roadway, and the sudden movement of a rabbit in the brush almost caused him to cry aloud, so startling was the sound in the midst of the tense silence. He began again to run, but quickly checked his speed, and could see that he was now within a few yards of the more open place. His alarm was groundless, he assured himself, and with a sigh of relief he was about to step forth into the light when directly across his pathway appeared four men.

So startled was Robert Dorlon by the unexpected appearance that at first he was tempted to believe they were shadows and not living men; but the hail of one of them instantly drove all such suspicions from his mind.

"You travel late, young man," said one of them gruffly.

"Or early," responded Robert quickly, laughing nervously as he spoke.

Who were these men? Was it possible they were friends? Rumors of the activities of both the cowboys and the skinners^[1] had ​been current of late, and if the men who had halted him belonged to the latter band there was a dim possibility that he might secure their aid. If, however, they should prove to be cowboys, then he knew what his fate was likely to be. In the dim light he could perceive that not one of the men was dressed in the uniform of either army, and the only way in which he would be able to determine their sympathies was to be cautious in his replies to their questions and strive to learn from their own words whether they were friends or foes.

"Where are you going?" demanded the man who had before spoken.

"Back here in the country," responded Robert quietly.

"That won't do," said the man sternly.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Who you are and where you are going."

"I told you."

"Tell us once more, then."

"I'm going back into the country."

​"And I told you that would n't do. You have a strange way of going 'back' in the country when you are headed down the river."

"Still that may lead 'back' into the country," said Robert quietly. He had been keenly watching the men, and several plans of action had already presented themselves to his active mind, but he would reserve them to the last, he assured himself, as he eagerly waited for the man to speak again.

"Is it to New York, or Morristown?"

"To neither."

"Where, then?"

"I told you."

"Who are you?"

"Robert Dorlon."

A brief whispered consultation followed between the men, but Robert was unable to overhear what was said. He had slight fear that his name would be known, and it would serve as well as any other in reply to the question which no longer could he evade.

"In which army are you?" demanded the man again.

"Can't you see? I'm in neither," replied Robert, striving to speak lightly, although his fears were now increasing.

"Do you belong to either army?"

​"I'm a friend of Clinton."

"That settles it. If you belonged to the regulars you would say 'Sir Henry.' You must come with us."

The question in Robert's mind was answered now, and the men before him, he was convinced, were cowboys, Tories, or, it might be, redcoats in disguise. Instantly he turned about and began to run swiftly back over the rough roadway. The men might fire upon him, and doubtless would, but there was a slight hope in the mind of the young soldier that in the darkness their aim might fail them, and he might be able to escape. He crouched low and ran at his utmost speed. He could hear the men coming swiftly in pursuit, but for some reason, which to him appeared to be unexplainable, they did not fire. It certainly was strange, he thought, but he gave it slight heed as he exerted himself to the utmost of his powers. There had been one loud, sharp call from his pursuers when he had so suddenly darted away, but he thought nothing of it save that it was a call for him to stop. When he drew near the entrance to the narrow place, however, he understood it all, for directly before him and swiftly approaching were four other men, ​who without doubt had been summoned by the call of their comrades.

In an instant Robert perceived what it all meant. He had entered into a trap and was caught between the two divisions of the band. He glanced at both sides of the road, but the bushes were thick, and there was little prospect of escape on either side. Suddenly he wheeled about, and lifting the club which he had retained in his flight, he brought it down upon the head of the pursuer directly behind him.

He was dimly aware that the man dropped to the ground, and instantly Robert leaped over his prostrate form, and began to run swiftly back in the opposite direction. Every moment he expected to hear the sound of a shot, but still not a pistol was discharged. It certainly was strange ; but thankful that it was as it was, he exerted himself as he felt positive he never had done before in all the years of his life. It was a race for liberty, if not for life itself, and everything depended upon the speed he could make now, he assured himself.

The same sharp, loud call had been made when he turned that he had heard before, but he was not troubled now, for he was confident that his would-be captors were all ​behind him. He discovered his mistake, however, when, as he drew near once more to the end of the narrow pass, he suddenly perceived two men approaching swiftly from that direction. He saw that he was caught now, and that there was no escape. The trap had been carefully made and he was taken within the lines.

Instantly the two men threw themselves upon him, and he was hurled to the ground, and held tightly in their grasp. He struggled desperately, but he soon was powerless, for the men all gathered about him, and his hands were securely held.

"We know where you are going now," said the man who had spoken to him before, and who evidently was the leader.

"That's right, Tom," laughed one of his comrades. "But don't you think it would be better to hit him in the head, and let him go?"

"Not yet," responded the leader. Then, turning to Robert, he said, "Come on!"

There was nothing to be done but to obey, and the prisoner followed obediently until the band came out into the open light.

"Search him," said the leader quietly. Powerless to resist, Robert saw his hat re​moved and cut into threads. Next his coat was taken from him, and with knives cut into strips.

"Here we have it!" said one of the men exultantly, as he took from within the lining the letter which Robert had received from the American commander, and had sewed in his coat for safe-keeping. Tears of anger and mortification were in his eyes as he beheld the man who had discovered the letter hand it to the leader, about whom most of the band quickly gathered.

1. ↑ In the time of the Revolution bands of lawless men who preyed upon the defenseless people and professed alle- giance to neither side. Those who were supposed to be more favorable to the British were called "cowboys," and those who were more friendly to the Americans were known as "skinners." But plunder was the foremost motive of both, and seldom did sentiment prevent either from carrying out their plans of evil.

CHAPTER IV
THE THIRTEEN

A brief, low conversation among the men followed the discovery of the letter, but Robert was unable to hear any of the words that were spoken. It was not difficult for him, however, to understand what the subject was, and with a feeling of helpless rage he watched them as they conversed. Near him were the sheltering woods, but the few yards that intervened were as impassable as if they had been miles. Even the air of apparent indifference of the two men who were standing guard by his side was maddening, for it only served to emphasize his own hopelessness. His plight was made worse in his own eves because of the loss of his horse, as well as of the letter that had been intrusted to him, and for the time the young soldier was almost in despair. Visions of what might be done with him were flitting through his mind, and the tales that were current of the hardships of the Americans who were prisoners in New York were recalled with startling distinctness.

​Suddenly the men who had been earnestly talking together parted, and three of them approached the place where he was standing. A strap which one of them carried was brought forward and the prisoner's hands were at once securely bound behind his back.

When this had been accomplished, one of them turned to Robert and said quietly, "Come with me."

It was useless to resist, and Robert obediently followed the man as he led the way back over the road that extended through the dark and narrow passage; but when they had gone about half the distance his captor suddenly turned and started directly into the woods. At first Robert hesitated to follow, but a low word recalled him to the necessity of obeying, and he was soon close behind the man, who seemed to be at no loss in picking his way. Indeed, Robert soon perceived that they were following a path, which, though it was not well marked, was nevertheless somewhat plain, and without a word being spoken the two men proceeded on their way.

The ground was rising now, and ere long Robert was aware that they were climbing a low hillside. In spite of the dimness of the light he was endeavoring to note the way in ​which they were going, and though there was no likelihood of his retracing it soon, still he was striving to mark certain places so that he would not be lost if fortune by any turn of her wheel should chance to favor him.

After a walk of eight minutes, though Robert was hardly aware of the time that had elapsed, they halted before a rude structure, built of rough boards and logs, and covering a space of about fifteen feet square. A low call from the man brought from within the hut another man, and as Robert gazed at him in surprise the prisoner fancied that never before had he looked upon so huge a being. The man must have been at least six feet and six inches in height, and his enormous frame seemed to the startled prisoner to be even more immense than it really was.

It became speedily evident that the two men were well known to each other, for Robert's captor said, "I 've a fellow here for you to look after, Josh, and you must not let him slip through your fingers either. He's slippery and he's valuable, too."

When Josh replied it was in a voice that was deeper than Robert thought he ever had heard, but it was not unmusical, and under ​other circumstances might even have been attractive.

"He won't get away," he said. "Who is he?"

"An express from Washington."

"Anything on him?"

"Not much now," replied the captor, with a laugh. "We 've looked well to that."

"What's to be done with him?"

"Nothing to-night. In a day or two we 'll know more. He's to be left here with you till we come for him."

"How 'll I know when to let him go?"

"You 're not to let him go at all. Some one of us will come and get him. And if you don't want every bone in your body broken, you 'll see to it that he does n't give you the slip."

The giant laughed in a manner that reminded Robert of the rumbling of distant thunder. "Shall I tie his feet?" he inquired.

"If you want to. His hands are tied now."

"Bring him in. I 'll 'tend to him."

"In you go! In with you!" said the captor to Robert, and at once he entered the hut.

Neither of the men followed him, and he glanced eagerly about. There was but one ​window or opening in the room besides the door, and at first Robert was unable to make out what the room contained. In a brief time, however, his eyes became somewhat accustomed to the dim light, and he could see that there was a table, a few rude chairs or stools, and in one corner a heap of some kind, he could not determine what. It was evident that he had been brought to the hiding-place of some one of the numerous bands of outlaws or cowboys that infested the region, and with whose deeds he was already familiar. It certainly was humiliating to the feelings of the young soldier to be made a prisoner by such men. If he had been taken and his precious letter had been seized by those who were enrolled in the army of King George it would not have been quite so humiliating, he thought; but to be seized by the cowboys and held as a prisoner by them until they should be well paid for delivering him into the hands of his enemies was to make a bad matter even worse. And that such was to be his fate Robert Dorlon had not a doubt.

In a brief time the huge Josh returned, but he was alone, and Robert concluded that the man who had led him to the place had gone back to rejoin his fellows, leaving him alone ​with the giant. Doubtless he was as well assured of the safety of the prisoner as if a guard of a half dozen had been placed over him, for a contest with his keeper could have but one issue.

"Hungry?" demanded Josh when he entered the hut.

"No."

"Tired?"

"Yes, dead tired," responded Robert heartily.

"I knew it. Everybody that comes here has th' same feelin'," said Josh, with a laugh that again recalled the rumbling of thunder. "It sort o' seems to affect people that way when 'the Thirteen' get hold o' 'em."

"‘The Thirteen'?" inquired Robert.

"Yes. Have n't ye ever heard o' that band?"

"Yes, I 've heard of it," responded Robert quickly; for the report of the deeds of a band of cowboys with that unique name had been current for some time. Among the hills and passes in Jersey and in the region back of the Hudson they had been busied for more than a year, and their leader, Claudius Brown, was a man whom all the patriots feared. Resolute, without fear, merciless and bold, already the ​scattered country people had come to tremble at the mention of his name. Nor was he the only one who had taken advantage of the troublous times to carry out his own bold projects; and though at first he had declared that he asked no favors of either side in the struggle and would give none, of late it had been currently reported that he had been siding with the forces of King George; though whether this was done because of surer gains and larger rewards, or because his own mind led him so to choose, no one knew.

Robert Dorlon shrugged his shoulders in the darkness and softly whistled as he heard that he was a prisoner of the well-known band.

"I thought so," laughed Josh. "’Most everybody has."

"Why do you call yourselves the Thirteen?"

"Because that's what we are, or rather it's what we started with. Some have been shot, and some have left, but we 've had more come, so I guess we 're about the same's when we started. There's another reason why we call ourselves that, though."

"What is it?"

"Well, it seems to be a sort o' a magical number 'mong the rebels, an' if it is, there's ​no good reason why we should n't have it, too."

"I don't see"—began Robert.

"Hold on a bit an' I 'll show ye. How many colonies are there?"

"Thirteen."

"Exac'ly. Now, how many hairs has Phil Schuyler left on th' top o' his head?"

"I have n't any idea."

"Well, it's exac'ly thirteen; an' his wife, Mistress Catherine Schuyler, braids 'em up every night most 'mazin' careful, I'm told, so 't not one o' th' magic number 'll get lost. Then Marthy Washington has a cat with thirteen stripes 'round his tail; she won't have any other kind, I hear. The rebels are just clean daft over the number thirteen; so we thought if there was so much in that number, we'd try it a spell ourselves. An' it seems t' have worked like a charm so far. I think ye said ye was tired," he added abruptly.

"Yes, I am," replied Robert quickly.

"Jest stretch yerself on those blankets in the corner there. I 'll keep watch over ye so 't nothin' comes t' harm ye." The giant laughed good-naturedly, and Robert was tempted for the moment to try to induce him to permit him to escape.

​"Josh, what do you keep me here for?" he inquired abruptly.

"Orders."

"Suppose I should escape and should send you five pounds. Would n't that fix it all right?"

"No, sir, 'twould n't."

"I might make it ten."

"Ye might make it a thousand, but 't would n't do ye a mite o' good."

"Why not?"

"I'm not that kind, that's all."

"But your 'Thirteen' is doing that all the time. They have n't any scruples."

"Ye don't know Claud, that's all. Besides, it would n't make any difference if ye did. I don't care a wisp o' barley straw which side wins, but I stick by my friends every time. Here ye stay till ye 're wanted."

"They might hang me," suggested Robert.

"Like 'nough. Such things have been done."

"You would n't do it or want it done either."

"I don't do it, that's true 'nough; but it's none o' my affairs what others do."

"Where shall I lie down?"

"There, in that corner," replied the man, ​pointing once more at the robes or blankets that could be dimly seen in the corner of the room. "An' let me tell ye," he added, "not to try any o' yer tricks. I'm on hand all the time right in front o' the door, an' if my gun should happen to go off, it would be most likely right in th' d'rection o' where ye were standin' at the time."

Robert made no response, and at once threw himself upon the improvised bed. In spite of his weariness, the predicament in which he found himself kept him awake for a time. He could see the huge form of Josh seated directly in the doorway with his back against the side, and puffing away at his pipe as if it were the sole occupation of his life. That there would be other things he would certainly do if conditions were to change, Robert felt confident, and to escape, or even to make an attempt to free himself, for the time was not to be thought of. He turned over upon his side and resolutely strove to go to sleep.

Whether he had been sleeping or not he was unable to determine, when he was aroused by the sound of voices and the sight of some one standing in the doorway talking to Josh. The voice of the new-comer sounded strangely familiar, and in a moment Robert was listen​ing intently, although he did not move from his position.

"I 'll leave my horse outside," the man was saying.

"Of course ye will," replied Josh. "I 'll keep an eye on him. He won't get away."

"I shan't be here more than two or three hours, but if I can get a little sleep I 'll be all the better for it."

"Go right in and lie down. There's only one in there now."

"Some one in there? Who is it?"

"I forget his name. He's asleep. Ye need n't be afraid o' him."

"I'm not afraid, but"—began the man in a lower voice.

"Go on in! I 'll let ye know when they come for ye. I can tell Claud in the darkest night that ever was," interrupted Josh.

"He sent me word that I was to meet him here. I don't know how he knew I was coming"—

"Oh, Claud knows all right," laughed Josh. "Nothin' escapes him."

"I should n't have stopped if he had n't sent word that he was to give me something of importance. I want to get back to New York in a hurry. As long as he is n't here ​and I 'm to wait, I might as well get a little sleep."

The man, whom Robert excitedly had recognized by his voice as Russell, then entered the room, and in a moment dropped upon the blankets within a yard of the place where Robert himself was lying.

CHAPTER V
A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY

It soon became apparent that no heed was given him by Russell, and Robert Dorlon, relieved of the fear which for the moment had possessed him, quietly rolled a little farther from his sleeping comrade. The deep and regular breathing of Russell became monotonous, and even the form of the huge guard in the doorway seemed to be leaning back against the wall as if he too was so confident of the security of his prisoner that he deemed it safe to indulge in a nap. Outside the hut the low rustling of the leaves of the trees could be heard, and the noisy notes of the crickets became almost unnaturally loud.

For a time Robert lay motionless and still, though his mind was busy as he recalled the exciting events of the night. The unexpected coming of Russell had been more than a diversion, for it had sharply recalled the prospects which Robert himself must face. The Tory had declared that he would remain only two or three hours, and then was to receive ​something from some one who was to come to the hut that would compel him to depart at once. He wondered if Nero was near by, and the thought at once aroused the eager young soldier. If only he could gain possession of him he would laugh at all the efforts of the Thirteen to overtake him.

He lifted his head from the blankets and gazed earnestly at Josh. The man was evidently asleep, and his heavy breathing came almost like a response to that of Russell, who was sleeping by his side. If he should rise and dart through the doorway he might be able to gain the shelter of the surrounding forest before the mighty Josh could recover from the surprise. Even the possibility that the guard was not really sleeping, but only resting, was hardly worthy of consideration, Robert thought, in contrast with the prospect of many days in one of the sugar-houses in New York, where already so many of the American soldiers were confined,—the tales of their sufferings and privations being familiar to all the patriots of the region.

But his hands were securely bound behind his back and his arms were numb and stiff. To attempt to escape with such a handicap was scarcely to be thought of, he decided, ​for if he should stumble or fall in his flight, he would be almost helpless. His first effort must be to free himself from his bonds.

At once he began to strive to withdraw his hands from the strap that held them. Doing his utmost to be quiet as he toiled at the task, he nevertheless exerted himself again and again as he strove to stretch the bands and to pull out his hands. For a long time he apparently made but slight progress. The straps had been wound several times about his wrists, and then had been drawn tightly into a knot. He twisted and strained and pulled, all the time doing his utmost not to arouse either of the men. His face was wet with perspiration, and the muscles in his arms ached from his exertions. He could feel that the skin was broken, and he was aware what it was that was trickling from his fingers' ends. The pain which he was suffering caused him repeatedly to cease his efforts, but every time he resumed his task with a steadily increasing determination. The sugar-house or freedom, failure or success in obeying the orders of his great commander, were the alternatives in his mind, and every particle of will-power that he possessed was summoned to his aid.

​His efforts had drawn the knot more tightly, but he was convinced that the strap itself was giving a little. With renewed hope he increased his exertions, and at last, to his unspeakable delight, he was able to withdraw one hand, though it pained him so intensely that he was fearful it would be useless. In his excitement he sat partly erect as he moved his hands in front of him, and with one hastily tore away the strap that was still wrapped about the other. His occupation was interrupted by a slight sound from the doorway, and glancing up, he beheld the giant standing just outside the hut. He had not then been sleeping, after all, and instantly Robert threw himself back upon the blankets, hardly daring to draw a long breath, so fearful was he that Josh had been quietly watching him in his efforts to free his hands. The giant stepped out into the night for a moment, and could not be seen, but he soon reëntered the hut and approached the place where the two men were lying. Was he about to adjust the strap again? The question caused Robert's heart to beat furiously, and for a moment the suspense was well-nigh unendurable. He tried to breathe regularly and heavily, like one who was sleeping, but his efforts seemed to him ​to be a miserable failure. A feeling of intense relief swept over him when, in a brief time, the huge guard, apparently satisfied that all was well within, turned and resumed his place in the doorway.

Convinced that his work had not been discovered, Robert did not move, but keenly watched the guardian of the hut. Apparently he was again sleeping, but his recent movements were too fresh in the prisoner's mind to permit him to trust to appearances, and for a time he strove to think out his own best plan to follow; but not once did he turn away his eyes from the sight before him. The deep and regular breathing of Russell still continued, and Robert was convinced that he had little to fear from him. The supreme test would be found in Josh, the giant guard. If he was really sleeping, to leap past him would be comparatively easy, but if he should be awake Robert well knew what would be likely to occur.

Still the young soldier lay motionless upon his bed. He did not even dare to rub his aching hand for fear the movement might attract the attention of his guard. For a time he thought carefully over the problem as to whether it would be safer for him to ​rise and creep stealthily and softly toward the exit, or to make a sudden dash across the ten or twelve feet that intervened and trust to fortune to favor him. The sleeper by his side moved uneasily, changed his position, and rolled a little nearer. Robert waited until the deep breathing once more assured him that his companion was not mindful of anything that was occurring in the room, and then he decided that the attempt must now be made. The hours were passing, and Russell had apparently been confident that some one was soon to come. The time might already be at hand, and Robert Dorlon decided that he could wait no longer. The worst feature of it all was that, even if by his sudden departure he should chance to escape, he still must leave Nero behind him. Even the faithful animal must now be left, he decided; and then resolutely, and with every nerve in his body tense, he began to lift himself from the blankets. Slowly and cautiously he rose to a sitting posture, and then waited to discover if his movements were seen. Apparently he was still safe, for Josh had not moved. He placed one foot on the ground, and, kneeling, braced himself for the quick leap he ​must make. Still, for some unaccountable reason, he hesitated. The silence in the room was almost appalling. Even the darkness was rendered more intense by the dim light that came in through the doorway, where the form of the huge guard could be plainly seen, seated as it had been for some time. The time for hesitation had passed, however, and Robert prepared himself for the final effort.

With every muscle rigid and all his reserve strength summoned to his aid, he was on the point of bounding toward the doorway when he was startled by a sound outside the hut. He flung himself back upon the blankets, but his feeling of disappointment was so keen that the tears started from his eyes. He was satisfied that the sound he had heard was made by the man who had come for Russell. Bitterly he blamed himself for his undue caution and delay. To have been so near the attempt and then to fail, even before he had put his fate to the test, was worse than to have failed after he had done his utmost. He could see Josh's great frame as the guard rose and stood in the doorway, and the heavy breathing of Russell by his side was still unbroken. The discovery that he had freed his hands would add to his own miseries, Robert was ​convinced; but he was powerless now to do anything to aid himself, and almost overcome by despair he lay motionless upon his bed and waited in breathless suspense for his companion to be summoned.

Josh had now stepped outside the hut, and wild thoughts of still attempting to rush through the doorway were in Robert's mind; but the attempt would be foolhardy he was assured, and he resigned himself to his fate with such courage as he could summon. Whatever might happen, he was resolved that his captors should not enjoy the sight of any weakness on his part.

He glanced again at the doorway as some one entered. It was not Josh, he at once perceived; and when the man approached the sleeping-place, Robert rolled over upon his side, keeping his arms behind his back. That the man had come to summon Russell he had no doubt.

Suddenly, and to his intense surprise, the stranger touched him upon the shoulder and whispered "Come."

Almost too dazed to realize what it meant, Robert rose hastily and followed the man as he cautiously withdrew to the doorway. What the summons might mean Robert had not ​the slightest conception, but his excitement and interest were too keen to permit him to falter now. Once outside the hut the man stopped, and holding a letter in his hand, said,—

"You 're to give this to Sir Henry himself. It's from General Burgoyne."

"Yes, sir," replied Robert, still too dazed to comprehend what it all meant.

"Mind you, you 're to put it into the hands of Sir Henry himself! No other man on earth is to see it. Can you do it?"

"Yes, sir," replied Robert, his heart giving a great throb as he realized that the man, whoever he was, had mistaken him for Russell. His own letter had been taken from him, but if he should succeed in bearing the other missive to the leaders of the American army it might in part atone for his failure to deliver the letter which Washington had consigned to his care.

"We 've had a great time getting it through," continued the man, "and if you lose it now you 'll have Claud Brown right at yer heels, and he 'll never let up. You hear, don't ye?"

"I hear," said Robert quietly.

"Where's yer coat, man?"

​"I have n't any," stammered Robert. "I don't want any for this work."

"Where's the letter ye got from Washington's express?" demanded the man.

"It's safe," replied Robert, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke, in spite of all his efforts to control it.

"Where?"

"I sewed it inside the lining of my—my clothes."

"Well, that's a good place, if ye 'll only keep it there. The other fellow had it there too, but he did n't keep it."

"Shall I start now?" inquired Robert, glancing nervously at the hut and striving to appear calm.

"Here's the letter. Ye'd better take that, I'm thinkin'." He laughed as he held forth the letter, which Robert took and placed inside his shirt.

"I don't know much 'bout ye, Russell," said the man sternly. "But I'm told ye 're all right. If ye hang, we 'll hang together. But Claud Brown is n't quite ready to swing yet. If ye play him false, ye'd better have ev'ry rebel in the colonies after ye!"

Robert made no response, but his fears were in no wise allayed by the knowledge that he ​was dealing with Claudius Brown himself, the well-known leader of the band of cowboys known as "the Thirteen." He was fearful every moment that Russell would approach or Josh come near and reveal the mistake which the man evidently had made. He glanced nervously about him, a movement which Brown noticed, for he laughed lightly as he said,-

"Ye seem t' be in a twitter t' get away. Ye may not find it all so fine as ye 're thinkin', for there's more'n one man on th' lookout for ye."

"All the more reason why I should get started, then."

"That's right; but ye want th' word, don't ye?"

"Yes," replied Robert simply.

"Well, jest say 'Th' Asia,' when ye 're facin' our men, an' it may help ye a bit. Sure ye don't want any coat?"

"No! No!" said Robert hastily. He was eager to be gone, and it was only by a great effort that he controlled his feelings. The man, however, insisted upon giving him some minute directions as to where he would meet friends, how he was to be carried to the other side of the river, when he was to return, and where he was to meet him again. ​"Ye 'll have somethin' for me," he said, "when ye come back, an' 't won't be healthy for ye t' lose it or t' let anything happen to it, either! I shall expect ye here inside o' four days. I 'll be on hand to meet ye."

"Where's my horse?" Robert ventured to inquire, feeling that boldness might be his safest course.

"Where ye left it."

"I 'll start now; that is, if you have n't any other word to give me."

"I 've said my say. Here's yer horse. Josh has brought it," he added.

Robert turned and beheld Josh approaching, leading Nero by the bridle. A fresh fear of discovery came upon him, but he quickly took the horse by the bridle and leaped into the saddle.

"Here, ye better lead him till ye come t' the road," suggested Brown.

Robert made no response save to speak low to his horse, and start him into a run, for the dull-witted Josh had perceived who it was that was mounting the steed, and with a roar that could have been heard far away was shouting his discovery.

CHAPTER VI
INTO THE NIGHT

The pathway that led to the road below was not clearly defined in the dim light, and stones and occasional trunks of fallen trees obstructed it somewhat; but in the great fear that now possessed the heart of Robert Dorlon he gave slight heed to any of these things. His confidence in the ability of his horse to pick his way was stronger than in his own, so, although he urged Nero to his best endeavors, he left the bridle loose.

Behind him the roar of Josh and the startled shout of Brown could no longer be heard. but the silence was no evidence of his security. There might be a half dozen shorter ways to the road he was seeking; men might have been stationed as guards at various places along the pathway; the band might still be waiting at the place where the path turned into the roadway. All these and various other suggestions occurred to the mind of the fleeing young soldier, but the one supreme purpose in his thoughts at the time was to escape from ​the men he had left behind him at the hut. And Nero was doing his very best to aid him.

Leaping over the obstacles before him, occasionally swerving from the direct course, and yet bounding down the hillside, the sure-footed beast kept on his way. Leaning upon his horse's neck and occasionally glancing behind him to make sure that his enemies were not close in pursuit, Robert drew near to the place where he would turn into the road. Suddenly he heard from the hillside in his rear the sound of two shots fired in rapid succession. He quickly sat erect and peered keenly all about him. It was evident at once that he had not been the target, for the sounds indicated that the pistols had been discharged at a considerable distance from where he then was. There was but one conclusion to be formed, and that was that a signal of some kind had been given, and in that event it was plain to him that men must be in waiting somewhere near. The most natural place would be at the junction of the path and the road, and he instantly checked the speed of his horse while he endeavored to decide what was best for him to do. He did not know whether or not Brown and Russell had horses at their command. Russell had ridden Nero, ​and he at least was not likely to have any other, unless by some chance the Thirteen might keep horses for their use near their hiding-place on the hillside. There was no way of discovering this except by waiting, and the excited young soldier had no mind for that.

Leaving Nero in the rear of a huge tree a few yards back from the path, Robert hastily ran a little farther into the woods, striving to discover if it was possible for him to gain the road in that direction and enter it at a point above that where the waiting guard might have been stationed. He soon came to the border of a deep ravine and saw that his progress was checked in that direction. He recalled the fact also that by the side of the road below a broad, swift stream of water was flowing, and he was by no means confident that he could safely cross it. He might be taken while he was striving to cross, and the venture was too perilous to be seriously considered. At the place where the path joined the road the stream had been very narrow, and a man might easily step across. If it were light now and he had time to look about, a way of escape might be discovered; but the need of haste was great, and in his excitement Robert ran swiftly back to the place where he ​had left his trusty horse, and taking him by the bridle, began to lead him down the pathway. The road could not be many yards distant, he assured himself, and he would look keenly about him as he advanced cautiously, Nero's footfalls being almost as silent as his own.

He drew back hastily among the trees when he was convinced that he heard the sound of men coming up the pathway before him. Some high bushes were growing close to the path, and taking his stand behind these he waited for the men to come near. He was in an agony of fear that he would be discovered. The slightest sound on the part of Nero would be sufficient to disclose his presence. He gently rubbed the horse's nose, at the same time peering out for the coming of the men. Nor had he long to wait, for in a brief time he perceived three men coming swiftly up the pathway, every one crouching low and holding a gun in his hands.

"I tell you," one of them was saying in a low voice, "we 're all wrong. What Claud meant was for us to stay and wait for him to come."

"No such thing," said another. "The signal was for us to stay where we were and be on the lookout."

​"He wanted us to come up to the shanty. That's what he wanted," said the third man.

Robert was listening intently, hut either nothing more was said, or he was not able to hear it. At all events the men passed on, and then instantly the young soldier, trembling with excitement, led his horse once more out into the path and rapidly proceeded on his way to the road below.

He had not gone far before he perceived the place he was seeking, but his fears redoubled when he spied two armed men standing in the roadway directly in front of the entrance to the path. It was too late to stop, for he was aware that he himself had been seen; and it was impossible to turn back, for more of his enemies were there than were before him. Every avenue of escape seemed to be closed, and in sheer desperation Robert leaped upon the back of his horse and advanced. He could see that the men stepped forward to dispute his coming. It seemed to him almost as if he was clutched already by the throat, so difficult was his breathing.

"What's wrong?" demanded one of the men sharply, as he approached the horse's head.

"Everything is wrong," replied Robert. ​"Russell's letter has been taken, and the man has gone up the road. Let me pass. I can get him yet!"

"Who are you?" demanded the man dubiously.

"Don't stop me!" demanded Robert in desperation. "Claud will never forgive you! He wants that man, I tell you!"

"How do I know that you are not the man himself?"

There was a momentary hesitation, and Robert was eager to follow up his brief advantage. In a moment the men from the hut might appear and there would be no escape from his predicament.

Bending lower, he whispered in the man's ear: "It's all right, I tell you! Don't keep me a minute. 'The Asia' will prove it to you, if you 'll take the trouble to ask."

The man's hand dropped from the bridle, and instantly Robert struck his horse and darted away.

"Hold on there!" called the man who had not before spoken. "That's the fellow we took yesterday. He's Clinton's express! Don't let him get away!"

Robert Dorlon waited to hear no more, and was already speeding up the road. His bold​ness and quick wit had availed for the moment, but he was still in danger. Even then a wild shout arose behind him, and he knew that his escape was known. If the band had horses near, then his chances of final escape were dubious, for Nero's weakness was apparent in every movement the faithful animal was making. The issue was too great, however, for even mercy to be considered now, and Robert urged his horse forward with ever-increasing speed. He could feel the heaving sides beneath him and hear the painful breathing as his horse responded to his appeals.

The one great fear in Robert's heart now was of pursuit by horsemen. If the morning would only come, he might be safe, for he well knew that the Thirteen belonged to the class whose work was done for the most part in the darkness. But the stretch of dull sky was unbroken by any promise of the coming dawn. He must still urge Nero forward, he assured himself, and if the faithful animal gave out, then he must trust to his own efforts on foot.

Ten minutes more had elapsed and still no sound of pursuit had been heard. Either the band had had no horses near, or they had not dared to attempt to follow him. Either solu​tion appeared to Robert to be unsatisfactory, but he lost no time in deliberation. The cool night air fanned his face, the grim outlines of the great trees loomed up on either side, the sounds of Nero's footfalls became monotonous, and still Robert sped on and on.

Suddenly, directly at his left, he perceived a rude path, or road, that led back apparently among the hills. Acting upon the impulse that seized him, Robert turned into the new way, determined to follow it as being, perhaps, safer than the one over which he was now fleeing. He was tempted to remain in hiding for a time and ascertain if he was being followed; but even that temptation was resisted when he thought of the letter in his possession and the peril from which he had fled, but from which he was by no means assured that he had as yet entirely escaped. He did, however, permit his well-nigh exhausted horse to stop for rest, and when he resumed his flight it was at a much slower pace than he had been following. He could see, also, that this road led around through a winding valley and was apparently frequently used, but he had no conception as to where it led. It was taking him back from the river, and in the sense of increased secur​ity which the conviction afforded he was for the time well content.

He was passing down a sloping hillside now, and was suddenly startled by the barking of a huge dog that came bounding across a field directly toward him. His horse also was startled, and stumbled and fell, and in a moment Robert saw that he was not able to rise. Whether the faithful animal had broken a bone, or was too exhausted to stand, Robert had no opportunity to ascertain, for with a growl the dog was now coming near. The young soldier looked about for some means of defense, and spied a sledge near him, from which he hastily tore one of the posts. It afforded him an excellent weapon, and lifting it in the air, he started directly toward the approaching dog. With a snarl, the animal turned and fled, and in his anger Robert swiftly followed until he had crossed the lot where the dog had first appeared, and then he abruptly stopped, as he found himself just in front of a low house of logs which had been concealed by the surrounding trees. But his surprise was increased when he perceived that in the open door two women were standing, and that one of them, whom he took to be the younger, was holding a gun in her ​hands. It was too dark to enable him to see the face of either, but the presence and attitude were unmistakable.

"Stop right where you are! Who are you, and what do you mean by disturbing us at this time of night?" demanded the younger woman.

"I beg your pardon. I did not see—I did not know there was a house here. This dog came out where my horse fell down, and I drove him off."

"Your horse fell down? Where is it now?"

"Out in the road."

"A likely story! You would n't leave it this way to come here."

"I beg your pardon. I must go back for it," said Robert, hastily turning about as he spoke.

"Not yet!" said the girl sharply. "Are you alone?"

"I am, madam."

"Where are you going?"

"That's a bit uncertain. Just now I'm going back to look after my horse;" and Robert once more turned away.

"Are you coming back here?"

"I do not expect to."

​"Is your horse injured?"

"I am afraid he has broken his leg."

"It's a shame how some men ride! They have no more mercy than the Thirteen!" said the young woman, whom Robert now perceived to be a girl no older than himself.

The reference to the Thirteen, however, instantly caused him to stop, and he said sharply: "Do you know the Thirteen?"

"To our sorrow."

"To my sorrow I, too, know them. I have just escaped from their hands."

"Are you a soldier?" said the elder woman in a low voice.

"I am, madam."

"Where do you belong?" demanded the girl sharply.

"Not anywhere hereabouts, nor do I want to stay here. If my horse is not too tired to carry me, I 'll be gone soon."

"Did you say your horse had broken his leg?" inquired the girl.

"I said I was afraid he had."

There was a low and hasty conversation between the two women, and then the older one said, "You surely need a lantern. Will you take ours?"

"I thank you, madam."

​"We will go with you; 't is but a step;" and despite Robert's protest, the two women and the dog, the elder woman carrying a lantern in her hands and the younger still holding her gun, at once started with him across the field by which he had approached.

CHAPTER VII
A DEFENSELESS HOUSEHOLD

In silence the little party approached the place in the road where Robert had left his horse. The glimmering light of the lantern was an added source of anxiety to the young soldier, for he was by no means positive that he had not been followed, and that his present predicament was not known to some of the members of the band of which Claudius Brown was the leader. However, the women had been so quick in their decision to accompany him, and their fearlessness was so apparent, that he had not repeated his protest, and in a brief time they arrived at the place they were seeking.

As Robert stepped forth into the road he saw that Nero was still lying where he had left him, and at once taking the prostrate beast by the head, he said soothingly, "Get up, Nero! That's right, old fellow!"

The horse struggled to his feet, and it became at once evident that no bones were broken. With a sigh of relief, Robert turned to his companions and said,—

​"He's all right now. I'm grateful to you for your kindness."

"Did you say you were running from the Thirteen?" demanded the younger woman.

"I did."

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know. I trust they are back in the woods where I left them."

"Was Claud Brown there?"

He was."

"The villain!" exclaimed the young wo-man warmly. "I hope they 'll hang him! They will, too, if they can once get their hands on him."

"Who?"

"The men of the country. He's kept up his wickedness till there's hardly a home in all the valley that he has n't robbed. I can stand a redcoat, but such a scoundrel as he is ought not to be left alive in such times as these!"

"There, Hannah!" said the older woman quietly. "Never mind Claud Brown now."

"Where are you going?" demanded the young woman of Robert.

"There are several places I must go to before I go back."

"Back where?"

​"Where I came from," replied Robert, laughing lightly. The assertiveness of his questioner amused him, and yet he was pleased with her friendliness, and her outspoken sympathy for the cause of the colonies found a warm response in his own heart.

"You need n't be so careful," said the girl. "We know which side you are on, and as long as it is our side, too, you need n't be afraid of us."

"How far is it to Fort Montgomery?" inquired Robert.

"It's too long a ride for you to think of taking to-night," said the older woman.

"I must."

"No, you must not. Your horse could never make it. Bring him with you and stay with us to-night. It will be safer for you to go on in the daytime anyway, and you 'll do better if your horse is rested."

"But I don't like to trouble you."

"It will be time enough to avoid that when you do trouble us. Come now, and Hannah and I will look after your horse, and you can get some rest yourself. If you 've been with the Thirteen, you 'll need that as much as your horse does."

For a moment Robert hesitated, and then ​decided to accept the offer of hospitality which was so cordially given. It was evident that the women were to be trusted, and his own weariness, as well as the exhaustion of his horse, provided more than an excuse for accepting what had been so warmly offered.

"That's right," said the elder woman heartily, as Robert prepared to follow; and in a brief time all three arrived in front of the little house.

"I 'll take care of your horse for you," said the girl quickly, as they halted for a moment.

"Thank you," replied Robert, with a laugh. "I'm not accustomed to such attentions from the ladies. If you will show me where to put him, I 'll take him there."

"We 'll show you;" and both women led the way toward the little barn which could be seen on the border of the clearing. Robert followed without a word, but as they approached the place he was surprised when he was led directly past the barn into the woods beyond.

"It's safer," explained the girl quietly. "We haven't a horse left on the place—thanks to the Thirteen, or some other equally good men. If we put your horse out in the woods, it may be that he won't be found, if we chance to have any other visitors to-night."

​Robert made no protest, for the scheme was a wise one, as he quickly acknowledged; and after a few minutes had elapsed Nero was tied to a sapling and left for the night. The women then returned with Robert to the house and all three at once entered. A candle was burning on the rude table in the kitchen, and in its light Robert glanced keenly at the women. The elder was a woman in middle life, but the younger was only a girl, apparently not so old as he himself was. Her vigorous body and firm step at once revealed both physical and mental strength, and her face, animated and attractive, speedily confirmed Robert's favorable impressions.

"Oh, you need n't be afraid of us," laughed the girl.

"I beg your pardon," stammered Robert. "I was not, that is—I am"—

"Exactly. Your statement is very plain."

"Hannah," said the woman, who, Robert was convinced, must be the girl's mother, "you'd better get our friend something to eat."

"I would not put you to that trouble," began Robert. "I"—

"Oh, you need not try to be too polite. Mother knows that every man is always ​hungry, and the first thing to do is to feed him. And I agree with her, for I have n't lived with four brothers, to say nothing of father, all these years without finding out that she's right," laughed Hannah.

"Yes, I have four sons," said the woman quietly, as if in reply to the unspoken question of Robert. "They went with their father."

"Yes, they 're in Fort Montgomery, and very likely you 'll see them there; that is, if you are able to get in," said Hannah.

"Did they leave you here alone?" inquired Robert.

"No, they did n't leave me alone," retorted the girl sharply. "I have mother and the dog."

"I should think you would be afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of the Thirteen," replied Robert, recalling the anger with which they had referred to his own recent captors.

"We 're not any more afraid without our men than we would be if they were at home," said the woman quietly. "Indeed, I don't know that we are so much, for there's less likelihood of trouble if the boys are not here."

Food had now been placed upon the table, ​and in response to the warm invitation which was given him Robert seated himself, and at once began to do ample justice to the viands. He was hungry and the food was tempting.

When he arose the first streaks of the morning light were beginning to appear; and then, in response to the suggestion of the mother, he made his way up to the loft or upper room in the house, and was soon soundly sleeping.

Three hours had elapsed before he was awake again, and in some confusion he descended to the room below, where he found both women busied in their household tasks. The elder woman greeted him with a smile that warmed his heart; but Hannah, who, in the light of the morning, he now saw was certainly a most attractive girl, looked at him and laughed.

"Well, Sir Lazy Bones, I hope you are well this fine day."

"Hannah!" said her mother reprovingly, as she perceived that Robert was confused by the unexpected salutation. "You must not mind her," she added. "She has been spoiled by her father and brothers. She is the only girl in the family."

"I think I 'll go out and see how my horse is," said Robert.

​"I have already fed and watered your horse," said Hannah.

"You have? I did not expect you to do that."

"I could n't bear to see the poor beast wait any longer."

"I am grateful to you for your kindness," said Robert seriously. "Is there not something that I can do to repay it?"

"Yes, sir, there is," responded Hannah promptly.

"Please tell me what it is."

"You are to take this letter and give it to my brother Joseph," and as she spoke she held forth a missive which was directed to Joseph Nott. "I don't suppose there is much good in giving it into your keeping, for probably Claud Brown will get it, and he 'll read it himself. Much good may it do him, too, for I've expressed my opinion of him in my epistle in a way that he will understand."

"I 'll try and see that Claud Brown does not get it this time, though he did get a letter from me yesterday, and one that I'd give much to get back, too."

Briefly Robert related the story of his encounter with the band, but he made no reference to the letter which Brown had given him ​by mistake—the one which at the very moment was concealed in his bosom.

"If you see my father, you may tell him that we are all well," added Hannah. "You 'll know him when you see him, for he is said to look very much like me. He is a little short man, and the best daddy there is on either side of the Hudson, I don't care where you go! I'd like to send him something, for he had his tenth birthday not long ago," she added demurely. "I always like to remember him then."

"His tenth birthday?" inquired Robert in surprise.

"Yes, that's what I said," retorted Hannah sharply.

Robert's face evidently betrayed the confusion in his mind, for even Mrs. Nott smiled, as she said quickly, "Tell him how it is, child."

"I have told him," retorted Hannah. "What more can I do?"

"My husband's birthday was on the twenty-ninth of last February," explained Mrs. Nott. "He is forty-four years old, but he has had only ten birthdays, and that is what Hannah means."

"I see," laughed Robert. "I thought he must be a young soldier."

​"There are other 'young' soldiers, too," remarked Hannah dryly.

"We 'll do our best to get over that."

"You 'll need to! Now that you know all about our family, perhaps it will not be out of place to tell us who you are."

"My name is Robert Dorlon; I'd almost forgotten to tell you," said Robert, laughing. "I'm a Jersey man"—

"You're a good ways from home," interrupted Hannah.

"Yes, and if all goes well, I 'll be farther still before I go back."

"Have you ever seen General Washington?"

"Oh, yes, a number of times. I 've talked with him, too. I 've got a"— Robert stopped abruptly, for he had almost told what he knew was for no one but General Clinton himself.

"Did you tell him how to beat the red-coats?" inquired Hannah.

"He did not ask my advice, nor did he need it."

"What is he doing at present?"

"That I cannot say now. But when I last saw him—that was only a few days ago—he was doing his best to keep the regulars where they were, over in Jersey, and he was ​succeeding, too. Cornwallis was at Brimswick, and doing all he could to get our men to come down from the hills and fight him. But General Washington was too much of a fox for that. He knew his men were no match for the regulars; and if he can keep the redcoats where they are, or in New York, they won't be able to come up the river to help Burgoyne."

"Some of them have come," said Hannah.

"They have? When? Where? What did they do?" demanded Robert quickly.

"Oh, they came up as far as Peekskill and did some damage there."

"Yes, I know all about that, but they went back to New York again. They 've been trying in all sorts of ways to fool us. First they pretend they 're going to sail up the sound and attack Boston, and then they start across Jersey, or pretend to sail down the coast to Philadelphia. They have tried every way to keep Washington from going up to join the forces of General Philip Schuyler. But he has his eyes open. They have n't fooled him yet."

"I don't think they'd go very far up the Hudson."

"Why not?"

"Well, there's Fort Putnam and Fort Independence and Fort Constitution and Fort ​Clinton and Fort Montgomery, to say nothing about the chains that have been stretched across the river. I rather think the redcoats won't sail past them right away."

"Hannah," said her mother warningly, "you are talking too much."

"I know it. That's what my mother always says to me when I go to see any of the neighbors," she explained to Robert, as Mrs. Nott left the house for a moment. "‘Don't tell all you know, Hannah,' is the last word I hear."

"You have n't told me any news. I know already"—

Robert stopped abruptly as Mrs. Nott re-entered the house, her manner at once betraying great excitement.

"What is it, mother?" inquired Hannah hastily.

"There are four men on horseback in the road and they 're going to stop here."

"Do you know who they are?"

"I think it's Claud Brown and some of his gang."

For a moment there was consternation depicted on every face, but Hannah was the first to recover, as she hastily bade Robert follow her and at once rushed from the room.

CHAPTER VIII
HIDDEN

The first impulse in the mind of Robert DorIon as he followed Hannah from the house was to run to the place in the woods where his horse had been left, and, leaping upon his back, to flee with all haste from the region. Nero must be somewhat rested now, he thought, and once safely mounted upon him he would have but little to fear from the marauding gang that was approaching.

His purpose was apparent even to Hannah, but as she saw her visitor about to dart around the corner of the house and run toward the woods, she said quickly, "Here! Don't do that."

"I must. They 'll get me again!"

"You are going to leave my mother and me to face these men alone?"

Instantly Robert stopped, but as he hastened back to Hannah's side the intrepid girl said, "We shall be all right. You need have no fear for us. It's you they want."

​"What shall I do?" demanded Robert "They 'll be here in a minute!"

"Wait! Stay right where you are! Don't move! I 'll be back in a minute!"

As she spoke Hannah turned and darted into the house, leaving Robert standing alone outside. For a moment he was tempted to run again, and then he decided to follow her. Of his own fate, if he should once more be taken by the men, he had no question, but he was still minded to do all in his power to protect the two women who had befriended him. Before he could act, however, Hannah rushed from the building holding in her hands a huge wing of a goose, which was used by the household to brush away the ashes that accumulated about the fireplace in the room.

Quickly drawing two of the longest feathers from the wing, she cut the ends from both with a knife and blew through each to test its emptiness, and then thrust the end of one into the larger opening of the other and so joined the two parts.

"Put this end in your mouth," she demanded, holding them forth to Robert; and as soon as he had received them she seized a rude shovel that was leaning against the side of the house and began almost frantically to ​dig in the great pile of wood ashes that was standing near.

Still Robert was mystified by the actions of the girl, and said, "What are you doing? I can't stay here like this!"

Apparently disregarding his question, Hannah continued to work desperately until she had made a great opening in the ashes. Then turning to Robert she said sharply, "Now shut your eyes and your mouth! Keep that goose-quill between your teeth and do just what I tell you to do!"

"What's that?"

"Get in there!" she exclaimed. "Do as I tell you! Don't stand there like a hitching-post. Get in! Get in!" she added, her voice almost breaking in her excitement. "I'm going to cover you up, eyes, ears, nose, and everything! Do what I tell you! Did you ever see such a man!" she added angrily, as Robert hesitated for a moment. "Be quick, or I 'll drop the shovel and leave you! Claud Brown may not ask you to hide in an ash-heap! He 'll put you where you won't need any goose-quills! Are you going to do as I say?"

The excitement of the girl, the near approach of danger, the certainty that he would be taken again, all combined to make Robert ​Dorlon aware of his own desperate plight, and instantly he threw himself into the opening in the heap which Hannah had made with her shovel. Well-nigh frantic with fear, the girl quickly began to shovel the ashes back over his prostrate body. At any moment now the men might break into the house, and if she was detected in her present occupation her own peril, as well as that of Robert, would be vastly increased. Still she was sufficiently collected to try to make as slight a cloud as possible as she plied her shovel, and Robert was soon hidden from sight. He had followed her directions implicitly, and tightly closed his eyes and mouth, still retaining the precious goose-quill between his teeth.

At last her task was accomplished, and nothing could be seen of the young soldier or his belongings, save the tip of the goose-quill, which only slightly protruded above the surface. Satisfied that her work was done, Hannah turned back into the house just as Claud Brown and one of his companions entered by the other door. He was known to both women, who looked quietly at him as he entered, though the heart of each was trembling with a fear that was born of experience in dealing with the treacherous cowboy.

​"Where's that young rascal?" demanded Claudius Brown brutally.

"We have n't any young rascal here," replied Mrs. Nott tartly.

"You know what I mean."

Neither woman responded, and after a brief silence Brown laughed brutally as he said, "Oh, we know what we 're talking about. He's here, and the sooner you give him up the better it will be for all concerned."

"Do you mean my brother or my father?" said Hannah quietly. "If you do, you know as well as I do where they are. If you will go on to Fort Montgomery, I think you 'll find them, and they 'll be glad to see you, too."

"Where have you hidden him?"

"Who?"

"That rascally young 'express.’"

"You 'll have to explain yourself," said Hannah, her heart bounding as she heard the word "express." Then her visitor was all that he had claimed to be, and whatever misgivings she might have had in striving to shield a stranger were now satisfied by the demands of Brown. She longed to glance behind her at the ash-heap to make sure that Robert had done nothing to betray his hiding-place, but ​she was cautious and did not once turn her eyes away from the brutal man before her.

"Come!" said Brown brusquely. "Are you going to give him up to us?"

"I certainly should not give any one up to you if I had any one here that you wanted," said Mrs. Nott. "You know that without my telling you. I think my husband and boys will be deeply interested in the report which I shall give them of your visit to two defenseless women."

"I know all about your 'defenseless women,’" laughed Brown. "I never come here without seeing you an' the girl standing close to your guns. Not that you can scare us any, but it makes me laugh to hear you talk of being defenseless. I rather guess you can do a little toward takin' care o' yourselves."

"We can try," replied Mrs. Nott quietly. Both she and Hannah were standing near two rifles that were leaning against the walls of the room. And Claudius Brown was aware that he had spoken truly when he had declared that they would attempt, at least, to protect themselves.

"If you think there is some one here, why don't you make a search and satisfy yourself?" suggested Hannah tartly. "If you are not ​willing to take our word for it when we tell you there is n't a man in the house, why, you 'll have to look for yourselves, that's all." She was thinking of Robert as she spoke, and what he must be undergoing at that time. That the traitors would search the place before they departed she was convinced, and if they began it at once then it would the more quickly be ended.

"You did n't say there was n't any one here. Has any one been here?" he demanded sharply.

"Yes, sir. A young man did come here last night."

"Ah! there did? Yes, yes. What became of him?"

"He went back into the road again." It was the truth, though only a half truth, but Hannah did not feel called upon to explain that Robert had returned to the house after he had gone back to the road to secure his horse.

"What time did he come?"

"I don't know."

"About what time?"

"It was before it was light, was n't it, mother?" said Hannah, turning and speaking to Mrs. Nott.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Nott.

​"In which direction did he go?"

"He went across the lot to the road."

"In which direction did he go then?"

"I cannot say."

"You will not say, you mean," said Brown sharply.

Neither woman replied, and Brown retired from the room with his companion. Could it be possible that the men were about to leave? The question was in Hannah's eyes as she glanced at her mother, who shook her head and motioned for her daughter to remain where she then was. Behind her, through the rear door, Hannah could see the heap of ashes, and to all appearances it was as she had left it. She was aware, however, how desperate Robert's plight was, and she was eager to learn the decision of the visitors, but still she remained standing beside her mother, striving to be calm and not to increase the suspicions of her visitors.

In a brief time Brown and all his comrades reëntered the house, and the leader said abruptly, "My men don't believe you. We 're going to search the place."

"As you wish," replied Mrs. Nott. "We cannot prevent you, though I assure you we can report you."

​"We 'll soon have that husband of yours and his boys where all the reportin' you want to do won't count for much. Ye might send down now to the sugar-houses in New York an' ask some o' your friends to come up and help."

Without waiting for a reply Brown directed two of his men to go up into the loft and one to go down into the cellar, while he himself at once began to search the rooms on the first floor of the house. Boards were torn up from the floor, closets were opened, barrels broken, and every conceivable hiding-place was inspected, but not a trace of the man for whom they were searching could be found.

"I hope you are satisfied now," said Hannah tartly, when the men all assembled in the room where she was standing.

"Satisfied he's not in the house," replied Brown grimly. "But, my lady, there's other places that need lookin' into, too. Go down t' the barn," he said sharply to two of his men. "Jim and I 'll take a look at the chicken-coop and the smoke-house."

"Don't you want me to show you the way?" demanded Hannah.

Brown did not reply as he and his men de​parted from the house to do his bidding. Far more fearful now, Hannah stepped to the door to watch their movements. All four men passed close to the ash-heap, but apparently it did not occur to any of them that such a place might be the very one where the man they were seeking was concealed. Two of them passed on to the barn, while Brown and his man at once began to inspect the places nearer the house. A new fear had seized upon Hannah now, and she was listening to discover if Robert's horse, which had been taken into the woods, would hear the men, and mistaking them for his master, expose his hiding-place by a whinny. In such an event the peril of all would be greatly increased; but in a brief time the men returned from the barn and joined their comrades who were standing near the ash-heap. A conversation, so low that Hannah could not hear what was said, followed, and in an agony of fear she watched every movement, not even glancing at her mother. It seemed to her that the men must suspect something, or they would not remain standing so long near the very place where the peril was greatest.

"Careful, Hannah," whispered her mother, as the girl peered out from the door. "You ​will make them suspicious. Better come in and wait patiently."

"I can't wait patiently! Oh! Why don't they come! I— There they come!" she added hastily, as she stepped quickly back into the room.

"We can't find him," said the leader, as he stopped for a moment in front of the kitchen door. "Apparently you told the truth."

"Apparently we did," retorted Hannah, her eyes snapping, as it was evident the search was about to be abandoned.

Brown said no more, but at once turned and with his followers remounted and rode swiftly out to the road, not once glancing back at the house.

"There! Thank goodness! We 've seen the last of them!" exclaimed Hannah, as the men disappeared from sight. "Now I 'll dig the poor fellow out of his grave."

"Had n't you better wait"—began Mrs. Nott; but evidently Hannah had no thought of waiting longer, for she ran to the ash-heap, and with her hands began to dig away the ashes around the place where the tip of the goose-quill could be seen. In a brief time Robert's face appeared and Hannah said gleefully, —

​"Why don't you get up ? Do you like your bed so much you think you 'll stay there forever? There! Don't you try to open your eyes or your mouth! Are you all right? I wish your mother could see you now. I don't believe even Claud Brown would want you. Just wait here. Don't move. I 'll be back in a minute. Stand up! That's right," she added, as Robert arose. "But don't move. Wait for me."

Darting into the house, the eager girl soon returned with broom and water, and with many exclamations of her pretended dismay at his appearance she carefully washed his face until he could once more open his eyes, and then began to brush him savagely with the broom, which she dexterously wielded. Even Robert was laughing by this time, but the laughter and the task were both sharply interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Nott with a word that was as startling as it was unexpected.

CHAPTER IX
A RENEWED SEARCH

"They 're coming back! They 're right here!" exclaimed Mrs. Nott excitedly.

"Where? Who?" demanded Hannah.

"Claud and his men."

Robert instantly entered the room and ran to the window, and peering out could see three men who were swiftly approaching. There was no question as to who they were, for Claud Brown himself was in the van, and his actions betrayed the eagerness with which he was leading his followers. Whether or not he himself had been seen and his presence in the house was known Robert could not perceive, but the approach of the cowboys was sufficient of itself to inform him of the fresh peril that now threatened. A glance had been enough to convince him that Mrs. Nott had spoken truly, but as he turned hastily away from the window his consternation was increased when Hannah suddenly exclaimed,—

"There are some coming up on the other side, too."

​Darting to the door in the rear of the house, Robert could see that two men were indeed approaching from the woods on that side, and instantly he understood what it all meant. Not satisfied with the result of their search, and convinced, in spite of their apparent failure, that the man for whom they had been searching was still hidden somewhere about the premises, the cowboys had in reality only pretended to depart from the place. As soon as they had gone sufficiently far to conceal their movements from the sight of the people in the house, they evidently had divided their force into two parties, and by their sudden and unexpected return were hoping to discover their man at a time when, confident in their success, the inmates would be less guarded and consequently would be more easily forced to disclose the hiding-place.

"They 'll see me if I go out of the house," exclaimed Robert, aghast at the sight.

"Yes, yes. You can't hide in the ash-heap again," replied Hannah, as excited as he.

"What shall I do? Where shall I go? Give me that gun," demanded Robert, hastening toward one of the rifles which were in the room.

"No, no. Not that!" said Mrs. Nott ​hastily. "There would be no use in that now."

"What shall I do, then? I 'll not stand here and let them tie me up like a winded sheep." The young man's eyes flashed as he spoke, and yet he knew how utterly useless any attempt to defend himself would be. He glanced again at the approaching men, and could see that they would be in the house in a very brief time.

"You must hide!" exclaimed Mrs. Nott.

"Where? Where? They 'll search every cranny in the house, and if I try to go out they 'll see me." Robert groaned in his excitement, and the vision of the sugar-house in New York, with all its helpless, suffering in- mates, was before him. Again his eyes flashed, and he made as if he would seize the rifle, come what might.

"In the cellar! In the garret! Somewhere! Be quick! Be quick, or it 'll be too late!" said Mrs. Nott.

"Here! Come with me!" said Hannah, who had not spoken for a brief time. "Come with me! I 'll hide you!"

Instantly Robert followed the intrepid girl as she ran swiftly up the steps of the rude stairway to the room above. There was no ​plan in his own mind, only his blind confidence that Hannah, who had succeeded so completely in her former scheme, would now be better able to find a hiding-place for him than he could himself. His plight was desperate, and already he fancied that he could hear the voices of the men in the yard.

Without faltering a moment Hannah ran swiftly to a side of the room, and instantly turning a button, opened a door that seemed to be a part of the wall.

"Here! In here!" she exclaimed in a low voice. As Robert faltered a moment, she said more eagerly, "What are you waiting for? Go in! Go in! Get close up to the wall! Pull the clothes over you! Don't you dare to breathe!"

Almost thrusting him in, she placed him in the farther corner of what Robert could see was evidently a clothes-press. On pegs on the wall various garments were hanging, and behind these he took his stand, while Hannah, working in desperate haste, arranged the garments so that they completely concealed his presence. The task had barely been completed when the sound of voices in the room below was heard, and Robert knew that the crisis had come.

​Hannah quickly departed from the closet, closed the door and turned the button, and was on the stairway when the voice of Claudius Brown broke in upon the stillness, as the cowboy harshly said,—

"We 've come back for the rebel. We know he is here, Mistress Nott, and it will be better for every one if you give him up peaceably."

"You back here?" demanded Hannah boldly, as she stopped for a moment on the stairway. "I thought we were rid of you for good and all."

"‘A bad penny always returns,' laughed the leader. "What were you doing upstairs? Have you hidden him again?"

"I thought you found once that he was n't here," she replied quietly.

"We 've come back to try it again."

"Well, try it, then!" she exclaimed, her eyes flashing as she spoke.

"That's just what we 're going to do." Turning quickly, he ordered one man to take a position in the yard in front of the house and another to take a similar position in the rear. As soon as his orders had been obeyed he bade two go down into the cellar. "Stick your knives into everything there," he said ​sharply. "Don't let any place escape you. The rascal is here somewhere, I know he is, and we must n't let him get away with that let"—Brown stopped abruptly, as his men instantly began to do his bidding.

Not a word was spoken by Hannah or her mother while the search was being made, though the excitement was intense. Hannah's confidence in the success of her present scheme was not so strong as when she had hidden Robert in the ashes, and the confidence and determination of the leader of the cowboys were both more alarming now. She glanced at the brutal face of the man, and her fears for her guest increased. If Robert should be discovered she was fearful of what might befall him, for there was something in the very bearing of the young soldier that convinced her that he could not be taken without a struggle. In such an event there could be but one outcome, and she trembled, even in her excitement, as she pictured to herself what that would be. The anger of Claudius Brown and his comrades already was keen, and if it should be increased by anything which Robert Dorlon was only too likely to do in the event of his discovery, she trembled as she thought of the fate of Washington's ​express. Still she was doing her utmost to appear unconcerned, and her scornful smile as she silently watched the man in the room was intended to be doubly irritating.

The leader, however, apparently was giving but slight heed to either of the women, for he was listening intently for some sound to come from the cellar to indicate the discovery which he was so eager to make. Occasionally he stepped to each door and glanced out, to convince himself that his orders were being obeyed by the men whom he had placed on guard there, but every time he returned to his place in the room and stood impatiently waiting for a report from the men who had gone down into the cellar.

At last the heavy tread of the returning men was heard and the leader ran quickly to the cellar-way. "Did you find anything?" he demanded gruffly.

"Not a thing, Claud."

"Stay here, and I 'll go down myself," retorted the leader, instantly starting down the stairway. In a brief time he too returned, and though he evidently was satisfied that the man was not concealed in the cellar, his anger was every moment becoming greater.

"Shall we toast the toes of the women?" ​he demanded of his men, as he came up into the room. "The rascal is here somewhere, there is n't any question about that, and the women know where he is, too!"

At his words Hannah and her mother quickly seized the guns that were leaning against the wall of the room, and though their faces were deadly pale, there was an expression on each that betrayed a determination that apparently was not without its effect on the visitors.

"Not yet, Claud," said one of the men. "We have n't gone through the house yet. The girl was coming down the stairs when we came in. It may be she has put the young rascal somewhere up there. Let's take a look upstairs before we do anything more."

"All right. You stay here, Jim," replied the leader, "and I 'll go up and help a bit there. Come on," he added, turning to the others as he spoke.

The men passed quickly up the stairs and were heard moving about in the room above. With her gun still in her hands, Hannah suddenly darted up the stairway, and standing near the top, watched the men as they proceeded with their search. Chairs were overturned and the few articles in the room were ​wantonly smashed as the angry men moved about. The bed was ripped open and the geese feathers sent fluttering about the room. Too fearful to utter the indignant protest that rose to her lips, Hannah watched the wanton destruction in speechless rage. A bright red spot appeared in each of her pale cheeks, and her lips were tightly pressed together, but she had not advanced from her position at the head of the stairway, for she was aware that at any moment it might be necessary for her to turn and flee.

"Hello! Here's the girl watching us," said one of the men, aware for the first time of Hannah's presence. "Come up to show us where he is?" he added with a brutal laugh.

"We 're hot on the trail now," said Claudius Brown. "She's getting anxious or she would n't come up to see what we 're doing."

Bitterly Hannah regretted that she had given way to the impulse to come up the stairs, but to return now would only confirm the men in their conviction, and besides she was almost fascinated by the fear that possessed her. If Robert should be discovered, she wanted to cry out, to warn him against attempting a resistance worse than useless.

​"Here's something worth looking into," exclaimed one of the men.

He had perceived the button on the panel, and at once turned it and opened the door. With a shout his companions turned and joined him, while one of them entered the press.

Hannah's heart was beating furiously, and it required all her strength of will to keep back the tears that threatened to pour from her eyes. Robert was certain to be found now, she was convinced, and all her attempts to hide him had been vain. She watched the men, expecting every moment to hear the shout, or the sound of a struggle that would announce the end of the search. Her mother was speaking in the room below, but her voice sounded faint and far away. The sunbeams that danced in the air where a shaft of light came in through a small hole in the roof almost seemed to be mocking her. As the men stood peering into the closet she was tempted to rush upon them and push them inside and close and button the door upon them, but she was aware how foolish such a move would be and wisely restrained the impulse.

"Here's something for you, Claud," called one of the men, as he tossed out a gown which ​was almost the sole piece of finery of which Hannah boasted. The sight was more than she could bear, and instantly rushing upon the men she snatched away the garment, and with flashing eyes faced them and said,—

"You may search the house all you please for the man you profess to believe is hidden here, but you are to leave my things alone. I don't believe you ever thought there was a man here. You just made that an excuse to come here and steal everything you could lay your hands on! Go on with your search, but you leave my gown alone!"

For a moment the men were so startled by the unexpected outburst that they were speechless, but recovering in a moment, when the angry girl ceased, one of them laughed as he said, "There, Claud, you 've stirred up a hornet's nest. Never try to rob a woman of her finery. She's worse than a bear robbed of her cubs. You don't want the gown anyway, do you?"

"No. I want the man," he replied.

"Well, look for your man, then, and much good may it do you," said Hannah; "but don't you touch my gowns."

"Hear the vixen!" laughed one of the men, as he turned to resume the search. Whether ​or not it was the presence of Hannah and her own daring in protecting her precious possessions, or whether it was because of their belief that there was nothing in the closet except a few garments hanging on the walls, that caused the men to make only a hasty and superficial search, she never knew. At all events, they only thrust their hands behind a part of the clothing and then carefully searched the floor for a possible trap door. The trembling young soldier pressed tightly against the wall in the farther corner of the closet, and concealed from sight by the garments behind which he had taken his stand, was not discovered, and when a few minutes had elapsed Claudius Brown called to his followers and returned to the room below. But the expression on his face was by no means reassuring, and the fears in Hannah Nott's heart when she, too, came into the lower room had not departed.

CHAPTER X
THE CONTEST

A shrill whistle on the part of Claudius Brown speedily assembled his men about him in the room, and for a moment there was a half-formed determination in Hannah's mind to call to her mother to follow her in a precipitate flight from the house. The faces of the men, their evident anger at their failure to discover the man for whom they had been searching, as well as the reputation for cruelty and brutality which the band had already gained in the region, were all sufficient of themselves to alarm the two women. A second thought, however, quickly convinced the intrepid girl that to flee would reveal their weakness, and they would be no more likely to escape the ruffians than if they should remain in the house. Their very boldness thus far had protected them, and their best plan, she hastily decided, was to continue the effort to appear indifferent to the presence of the marauders, whatever their true feelings might be.

Accordingly, Hannah took her place beside ​her mother, who was standing near the two rifles, and quietly watched the men as they assembled about their leader.

"The fellow is here. I know he is," said Claudius Brown savagely.

"Why don't you get him then, Claud?" demanded one of his followers.

"Why don't I? Because I 've got a lot of men who can't see a barn door right before their eyes!"

"Just tell us where to look, Claud, and we'll string him up for you before he can get time to wink."

"The women know where he is," said the leader, as he glanced wickedly at Mrs. Nott and Hannah.

"Well, if they know they can be made to tell," replied the man.

"So they can, Jim," said another. "What's the use in wasting our time here when we could make them tell in three minutes?"

The face of Mrs. Nott became deadly pale as she turned for an instant to glance at her daughter, and almost instinctively both moved a little nearer to the guns.

"It won't be the first time, Claud," said the man who had first spoken. For a moment the leader hesitated, while his followers made ​as if they would advance and seize the two terrified women.

"Not yet. I'll tell you why," replied Claudius Brown after a momentary hesitation. His followers drew closely about him, and a whispered conversation followed which neither Hannah nor her mother was able to hear. The result of the conference became apparent when all the men except the leader at once turned and departed from the house, leaving Claudius Brown behind. What the abrupt departure might mean Hannah could not conjecture, but it soon became evident that the men were gone, for she had stepped to the door and had seen them as they swiftly sped down the road.

Somewhat emboldened by their departure, she turned back into the room, and with her eyes flashing, she said, "Why don't you go, too, Claudius Brown? Your room was always better than your company."

"Never you mind, my lady," retorted the leader. "You 'll know more before you are twenty-four hours older. You may be glad that I'm here."

"Well, if we 're to have the pleasure of your company, all I can say is that you 'll have to entertain yourself. I 've got my ​morning work to do, and I don't intend to let any cowboy or Tory"—

"Hannah!" interrupted her mother warningly.

"I don't care, mother!" retorted Hannah sharply. "I 'll take that rifle with me and go on about my work, and you'd better do the same.'

"Not yet, my lady!" laughed Claudius Brown brutally. "I 'll have a bit to say about that myself."

"Say it, then!" said Hannah sharply.

"You 'll hear it all in good time! Never you fear about that!"

"What is it you want? What are you staying here for?"

"I want that sock."

"What sock?"

"The one you have somewhere hereabouts. If you 'll give it up quietly, there won't be any trouble; but if you don't"—

"You 'll have to look for it yourself," interrupted Hannah angrily. "You must think we 're rich! If there's a sock here filled with money, it must be that the man you 've been looking for took it away. I have n't seen any money around here since the redcoats took New York; but if you really think there is ​some, I 'll help you look for it. I would n't mind finding a little myself."

"That's all very well for talk. The man has got away from us, but the money does n't run. Now, if you 'll give up that sock, I 'll give you my word of honor"—

"Your word of honor!" exclaimed Hannah scornfully.

"Yes, my word of honor that you won't be troubled any more."

"Oh, we 're not troubled. It's a pleasure to have you here. Won't you take a chair, Mr. Brown? My father and the boys may come home any time now, and I know they 'll be delighted to find you here."

"I know where your father is, and I know where he will be, too, before he's many days older," said Claudius Brown savagely. He was a man in middle life, with huge shoulders and every evidence of great physical strength, though his form was short and ugly. The scars of smallpox were thick on his coarse features, and as he spoke it seemed to Hannah that she had never before looked upon a man so utterly repulsive as he. The expression of rage on his face was so disgusting and threatening that for a moment she heeded the unspoken appeal of her mother, and resolved ​not to rouse the vindictive spirit of the man any further.

"You seem to know all about us," she said more quietly. "If you are sure there is a sock full of gold here, and you know where it is, then there is n't any need of my staying here any longer."

Stepping past the man, she took her gun in her hands and at once went to the kitchen. Outside the kitchen door was a box or kennel in which the huge dog that had greeted Robert the preceding night was confined. The entrance of the kennel had been barred by Hannah early in the morning, for she was fearful of the dog's attentions to Robert, and for the safety of both she had shut the animal within his house. Why it was that he had been silent or not discovered during the visit of the members of the band she could not understand, but it would be safer to release him now, and accordingly she unfastened the strap and, bidding the dog follow her into the kitchen, began to prepare his breakfast.

She was sharply interrupted by the sudden growling of the beast as well as by the sounds that came from the room where she had left her mother. A struggle of some kind was going on there, and instantly seizing her gun ​Hannah opened the door and the dog with a fierce growl darted before her. On the floor she saw two men who were engaged in a desperate conflict, and one glance was sufficient to show her that the contestants were Robert and the leader of the Thirteen. Over and over upon the floor they were twisting and turning, but before she could speak the dog flew at them. Growling, snarling, he seized one of the men by the leg, and instantly the man relaxed his hold upon the other and shouted for help.

"Let him get up, Robert," said Hannah quickly. "I 've my gun. He can't get away. Stop it, Lion! Get away! Get away!" she added sharply, as she seized the dog and tore him away from his hold. The dog, still growling and with every hair on his back on end, slunk into a corner of the room, where he lay watching the men and evidently eager to spring at them again.

"Let go of him, Robert," she said again.

"Make him stay where he is, then," said Robert breathlessly, glancing up at the girl as he spoke, but making no movement to comply. Claudius Brown was no longer struggling, for the words and actions of Hannah were not to be disregarded.

"He 'll stay right where he is, Robert," ​said Hannah. "Do you get up and we 'll see what's to be done. What was he doing? How did you happen to be here?"

"He was going to strike your mother," explained Robert, rising as he spoke. "I was listening and watching from the head of the stairs and I thought 't was time for me to take a hand. What shall we do with him?" he added, looking down at the man who was still lying upon the floor.

"Take his pistol away, first of all," suggested Hannah, and Robert stooped and drew the huge pistol which projected above the belt of the prostrate leader.

"Now, Claudius Brown, what were you doing?" she demanded.

The leader glanced malignantly at her, but did not reply.

"You ought to take him with you to Fort Montgomery," said Hannah. "Are you hurt any, mother?" she added quickly, turning to Mrs. Nott as she spoke.

"Not hurt, only frightened, Hannah," said the woman. "He was going to make me tell where the sock was hidden and he tried to get the gun."

"He won't try any more now, anyway. What shall be done with him, Robert?"

​The girl was still holding her rifle in her hands, and the man on the floor still made no attempt to rise, evidently having a wholesome fear of what might befall him.

"Let me search him first," said Robert quickly. "I may find my letter."

A thorough search, however, failed to reveal the missing letter which had been taken from Robert in the preceding evening, and a smile of malignity passed over the leader's face when the young express said, "It is n't on him. When do you expect your father, Hannah?"

"Any time."

"Would n't it be a good plan to tie this fellow up somewhere, and let your father deal with him when he comes?"

"No, no," said Mrs. Nott hastily. "We don't want him here. Let him up and let him go."

For a moment Robert hesitated and glanced inquiringly at the girl by his side.

"I think mother is right. Let him go. But if he ever dares to come back here, he 'll know what to expect. You must tell my father and the boys all about it, Robert, just as soon as you get into the fort."

"I 'll do that," replied Robert quickly.

​"Get up, then!" said Hannah to the prostrate man. "Take yourself away and tell your friends that the next time they come here there 'll be some men to give them a welcome."

Claudius Brown waited for no second invitation. Leaping to his feet he darted through the open door, and began to run toward the road in the direction in which his recent companions had disappeared. He limped somewhat as he ran, and it was evident that the attentions which the dog had bestowed upon him had not been without effect; but the man did not once glance behind him, and soon could no longer be seen.

"Now you take your horse and go, too, Robert!" said Hannah sharply.

"I don't like to leave you here alone," began Robert. "I"—

"Never mind what you like or what you don't like! We 're not alone, and we 're not afraid, either!"

"I know," began Robert hesitatingly, for his own duty was indeed apparent, but he disliked to leave the women unprotected.

"Did the cowboys come because we were here, or you were here?" demanded Hannah sharply.

​"I suppose it was because I was here," admitted Robert.

"Well, then, if you go, there won't be anybody here that will trouble us, will there? Besides, I want you to tell father and the boys that some of them must come home to help us," she added illogically.

"If it was n't for this letter"—

"You 've got the letter, and General Clinton will need it, too."

"Yes, that's so."

"The sooner you get it to him the sooner he 'll know, and the sooner my father and the boys will know about us, too. I 'll get you something to eat," she added quickly, "but you must n't stay to eat it here. Eat it on your way. Come, and I 'll go with you to look for your horse."

Robert turned for a moment to thank Mrs. Nott for what had been done for him and to express the hope, which was not strong in his own heart, that the home would not be molested again, and then quickly followed Hannah as she led the way to the place where his horse had been concealed. The huge dog was growling and plainly objecting to his presence, but a word from Hannah quieted the savage brute which was left to ​guard her mother, and then the two young people hastened into the woods.

In a brief time they arrived at the place where Nero had been left, and Robert quickly perceived that his faithful horse was rested and apparently ready for the hard ride that awaited him. At once he was made ready for the departure, and as Robert leaped upon his back he turned to Hannah and said,—

"I 'll be back soon. Then I 'll thank you for what you 've done for me."

"You look like a heap of ashes," laughed Hannah, apparently ignoring his words.

"It was pretty nearly dust to dust and ashes to ashes, was n't it?"

"Good-by," said Hannah abruptly.

"Good-by," responded Robert; and then, speaking low to his horse, he began to ride swiftly across the lots toward the lower road.

CHAPTER XI
FORT MONTGOMERY

When Robert Dorlon found himself in the lower road and with his face turned toward the north, he became exceedingly watchful, for the persistence of the band which had followed him to the house of Hannah Nott had convinced him that the men were determined to take him if such a thing was possible. The letter, which he still had in his possession, must be of great value he was convinced, and that fact also served to increase the caution with which he advanced.

Not a man could be seen, however; and, eager to place the letter in the hands of General Clinton, as well as to secure his own safety, he rode rapidly, for Nero now was apparently rested and as ready for the swift flight as was his young rider. The day was warm, and the sun, already past the meridian, was not hidden by any clouds. Occasionally the road came out into open places, and then again led through the depths of the sombre woods, where the songs of the birds and the ​sight of the chattering squirrels afforded some variety in the monotony of the swift and steady ride which Robert was taking.

As soon as he had proceeded a few miles beyond the region where he believed his greatest peril was to be met, he regained a measure of composure and his thoughts reverted to the stirring experiences through which he had passed that morning. He had not succeeded in entirely freeing his garments from the ashes in which he had been concealed, but the fact of his escape was so much more important than the discomfort, that he felt like shouting and singing in his enthusiasm. He laughed as he recalled the lowering countenance of Claudius Brown when the cowboy had fled from the house, but a silence followed when he thought of the peril of the two women who had been left in the lonely farmhouse. It was wrong, he said decidedly to himself, that they should be thus left unprotected. The sturdy boldness of Hannah and the more quiet strength of her mother were not unlike that which was displayed by many of the patriotic women of the period who had urged their husbands and brothers to go into the struggle for the freedom of the colonies, but none the less it was more than ought to ​be demanded, that they should be left with no one to protect them from the marauding bands of Tories or cowboys. Already the deeds of these outlaws were becoming so frequent that some concerted action was necessary against them, but the greater peril which now threatened the struggling colonies from the advance of John Burgoyne and the possible and expected movements of the redcoats up the lordly Hudson to join their comrades from the north, was of a nature to demand all the attention and energies of the little army of the patriots.

Robert was familiar with the action of the Congress early in the war, when it had been decided to fortify some of the places in the highlands and narrows of the Hudson, and was aware of the part which General Washington had taken in the oversight of the task. He himself had been within most of these little forts, and well knew the direction which he must follow in order to gain an entrance into Fort Montgomery, where he was hoping to find General George Clinton. The fort itself stood on a sharp precipice about a hundred feet above the waters of the river, and to the young soldier, on the occasion of his first visit, it had seemed to be ​too strong ever to be taken. His confidence, however, had been somewhat lessened by his increased experience, and now he was also well aware of the fears of the leaders that the militia with which the little forts in the region were manned might not be able to offer a very sturdy or prolonged resistance to a determined onslaught by the redcoats. He knew also of the current belief that, after the experience of the British at Bunker Hill, they would not attempt, even by the bayonet, as they had done there, to dislodge the Americans if they were intrenched in the heights above them; but the reverses of the preceding year, when the farmers and farmers' boys had fled from before the well-disciplined redcoats in the fight on Long Island, in New York, in Harlem, the bloody defeat at Fort Washington and the wild flight from Fort Lee, had not been forgotten. It was true that the skill and energy of Washington had turned apparent defeat into victory at Trenton and Princeton; but even the enthusiasm aroused by these events had in a measure been forgotten in the face of the perils that were threatening in the summer of 1777.

Across the Hudson, in its narrow channels near the fort he was seeking, he was aware that ​heavy chains and cables had been stretched, in the hope that a possible advance of the British fleet might be checked by them; but Robert also knew that the same measures had been employed before nearer New York, and that the British had really paid no more attention to them than if they had been made of paper. As a check to their progress, they had been complete failures.

It was currently reported that the real hope in Washington's mind of being able to prevent the British from going up the Hudson and joining the forces of Burgoyne lay mostly in his attempt to make the redcoats believe that he would fall upon New York if they should withdraw their soldiers. But the British generals were expecting large reinforcements to arrive soon, and in that event they would have a sufficient force under them to leave a part to guard the city and still have a large army to go up the Hudson to Albany or beyond. The need of quick action on the part of the troubled Americans was therefore imperative, and under the influence of the thought Robert Dorlon almost unconsciously increased the speed of the horse he was riding.

And yet in the midst of the anxiety of the young express there came again and again the ​thought of the young girl and her mother whom he had so recently left in their lonely farmhouse. The courage of the girl, her gray eyes that at times seemed almost to snap fire, her intrepid and apparently fearless manner, ind at the same time her gentleness and the tenderness with which she had cared for him, were uppermost in his mind. It was strange, he reflected, that he should be thinking so much more of what Hannah had done than of the part her mother had taken. Both were in peril, and as soon as he had delivered his letter into the hands of General Clinton and received his instructions from him, he would at once seek out Mr. Nott and his sons and inform them of the danger that threatened their home. If it should be impossible for the men to return, then at least they could make arrangements for the removal of the two women to some place where they would be safe from harm.

His meditations were interrupted as he glanced up and recognized that he was once more near Dirck's home. His first inclination was to stop and see the man, and perhaps follow out his original purpose of being ferried across the river, then proceed on that side until he should have gained a place opposite ​Fort Montgomery, and then be once more brought over the river. This plan had repeatedly been followed because of its supposed greater safety, for the prowling bands of redcoats and cowboys were more plentiful in the region between the forts and the city. A brief reflection, however, caused Robert to decide to abandon that project and to keep on in the way he was then going, not even stopping to see Dirck. On his return a brief stop might be made, and then he could both report his own success and learn from Dirck how it had fared with him.

Accordingly Robert kept steadily on his way, though he glanced keenly about him as he passed Dirck's humble home; but he was not able to discover any one about the place. As he proceeded, his fears of interception became less, for the prowling bands of cowboys or straggling outposts of the Tories or redcoats were not to be found so near the forts of the Americans.

It was near nightfall when at last Robert arrived at the place where he was to leave his horse and proceed on foot. He then hastily followed the path that led up to Fort Montgomery, and as soon as he had been admitted, sought out the quarters of General Clinton. ​To his delight he found that the general was within and alone, and in response to the word which he gave the guard he was speedily admitted, and at once made known his errand.

General Clinton listened quietly to his story of his seizure and the loss of the letter which had been intrusted to him, but the scowl which rested upon his face quickly departed when Robert held forth the letter which he himself had secured, and he said as he eagerly took it: "There will be nothing for you to do to-night. Report to me early in the morning, and doubtless then I shall be able to give you instructions as to what you are next to do."

Robert bowed and retired, relieved that his failure to bring the letter of the commander had been received with such apparent unconcern, though he was well assured that the substitute letter had been no slight aid to him; and then he decided at once to seek out Mr. Nott or his sons and repeat to them what had recently occurred at their home.

Near him he perceived a young soldier, apparently about his own age, and advancing toward him Robert said eagerly, "Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Nott?"

"Which Mr. Nott?" replied the young man sharply. "There are several here."

​"I don't know which one, but he is the father of Hannah Nott."

"What do you know about Hannah?" demanded the man tartly.

As Robert gazed at him he could see that his face appeared to be strangely familiar. He must have seen or met him somewhere, he was convinced; but though he endeavored to recall some former meeting, he was unable to decide when or where it had occurred. He was somewhat chagrined, too, that he had mentioned Hannah's name, but it had escaped his lips almost before he was aware of it, in his eagerness to describe the man for whom he was searching. "I don't know that I am called upon to explain that," he replied, somewhat warmly. "And if you can direct me to this Mr. Nott I shall be under obligations to you."

"Who are you?"

"I'm not called upon to explain that either. I want to find Mr. Nott, but if you don't want to tell me I can find some one who will."

"My name is Nott," said the young soldier.

"It is? Are you one of his boys?"

"You are a brilliant man," laughed the other. "If my name is Nott, what did you suppose my father's name would be?"

​His good humor was contagious, and Robert also laughed as he said, "I did n't know whether or not you were the son of the Mr. Nott I want to find."

"If I'm not the Nott you want, then you 'll not want this Nott. But if I am the Nott you want, then you 'll not have to look for any other Nott, at least not right away. Is not that so?"

"I think it is," replied Robert. "But how do I know you 're the right Nott? You may not be the Nott after all, and then I 'll wish I'd not spoken to this Nott."

"I'm Hannah Nott's twin brother anyway. My name's Joseph Nott."

"You are!" exclaimed Robert. Yes, he could understand it now, and his resemblance to his sister was certainly striking. Doubtless it was this very fact that had led him to believe that he must have seen the young man somewhere when he had first met him. "Then I 'll tell you what I have to say," he hastily added; and he related the story of the visit of Claudius Brown and his gang, and what occurred in the home where Hannah and her mother had been left.

Joseph Nott listened attentively, and as soon as Robert's story had been told he said, ​"You stay here. I 'll go and tell my father. I 'll be back in a few minutes."

The young man darted away, leaving Robert where he then was, and quickly disappeared from sight. Left to himself, Robert began to look about him at the men and the defenses of the little fort. The men he could see for the most part were evidently farmers and farmers' boys, members doubtless of the militia from which the defenders of the forts on the Hudson had been drawn by the order of Congress. They were a sturdy lot, but how much they would be able to do if they should be attacked by a force of the redcoats he was unable to decide. Of experience they had had but little, and it was already apparent that the discipline in the army of King George was an element of no small consequence in the struggle that was then going on. The defenses of the fort, too, were not impressive, and Robert's fears were not allayed by what he saw when he thought of the probable advance of the British army under Howe or Clinton.

The dusk was deepening now and he began to realize that he was exceedingly weary. The long ride had been supplemented by such adventures as never before he had met with, and ​now that he found himself in a place of comparative security, and a part of his journey accomplished, the natural reaction had come. There were misgivings in his mind, too, as he thought of his ride on the morrow, for he understood that he was to go on as far as Albany at least; but there still was one source of consolation, in that no perils were likely to be faced between Fort Montgomery and the town for which he was bound. Almost all the danger was in the region below the forts undoubtedly, and it would be some time, he assured himself, before he would return. Meanwhile he must not meet trouble more than half way, and he resolutely strove to banish from his mind the fears that beset him, due doubtless in large measure to his own weariness. A good rest would restore his hopefulness and courage, he tried to assure himself; but his meditations were interrupted by the approach of Joseph Nott, whom at first he had failed to recognize in the dim light. The bearing of the young soldier had entirely changed, and Robert at once became deeply interested in the report of his interview with his father.

CHAPTER XII
A NEW MESSAGE

"My father has gone to see General Clinton," said young Nott. "I told him we never should have left mother and Hannah there alone, but he said 'he guessed they could take care of themselves. He was n't afraid for them.’"

"But he is now?"

"Afraid? Why, man, he trembled like a leaf when I told him your story. He acts like a crazy man. I'm afraid the general 'll think he ought to shut him up in the guard-house. Something will be done now, though. I don't mind telling you that it was mighty good of you to bring us this word."

"Hannah did more for me than that," replied Robert quickly. "I have n't got the taste of those ashes out of my mouth yet."

"They taste better than Claud Brown's bullets or his hemp," laughed Joseph.

"That they do."

"I may see you before you leave the fort, or if I don't this time I will some other," said Joseph. "But now I must say good-by and go ​back to wait for my father and to get the boys together." He extended his hand as he spoke and then turned quickly away.

There was nothing more for Robert to do until morning, when General Clinton had assured him that he would receive instructions concerning his further duties; and the young soldier, completely wearied by his recent experiences, was glad to seek out his quarters and retire for the night.

On the morning following, as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he at once sought out the general's quarters, though on his way he glanced eagerly about him hoping somewhere to perceive Joseph Nott and learn from him what decision had been made concerning the protection of Hannah and her mother; but the young man was nowhere to be seen, and Robert was received by the general with the question still unanswered. He was obliged to wait for a brief time before the commander could receive him, and as soon as he was admitted he was compelled to relate once more the story of his adventures on the preceding day. The general was a stern man, and yet when his face was lighted up by a smile, as it frequently was, the expression was most winning. Stories of the leader's popularity, which ​were current, and the frequently expressed determination on the part of many to select him for the governor of the new "state," were easily explained, Robert thought, as he stood looking into the face of George Clinton and listening to his words.

"The letter you brought me, young man," said the general kindly, "more than makes up for the loss of the other. I do not fancy that the redcoats will obtain much information from the one they took from you, but the one you had is very valuable, very valuable indeed. Have you any knowledge of its contents?"

"No, sir."

"It matters little. It will be put to a good use. Now tell me all you know of affairs in New Jersey."

Thus bidden, Robert once more respectfully related the tale he had already told of the advance into the state of the detachments from New York, of their landing at Amboy and holding of Brunswick, and how they had again and again failed in their attempts to draw Washington, who had followed the British and yet kept within the security of the hills, into an engagement.

General Clinton smiled and his face beamed ​with satisfaction as he listened, and then said, "I shall tell you a few facts which you may be able to give the general, even if your letter should be lost on your way down as it was on your way up the river. We have comparatively quick knowledge of Burgoyne's movements, and he is now advancing."

Robert looked up eagerly as he heard the statement, but he did not speak, and the general continued: "Yes, we know that Burgoyne arrived at Quebec on the sixth of May, and on the tenth of the same month received the command of the army from General Carleton. On May twelfth he had advanced to Montreal. Then from the fifteenth of May till the seventh of June he was at Three Rivers, and doubtless by this time has pushed on to Fort Chambly, and it may be that he is even as far as Isle aux Noix or Cumberland Head. We shall surely know within a day or two, for his movements are watched and quickly reported."

"And will General Schuyler be able to stop him?" inquired Robert eagerly.

"That remains to be seen," replied the general, a momentary frown appearing on his face. "Naturally we hope so, we expect it," he added more cheerfully, "but the task is not ​one for boys. It is a difficult and trying one, but Philip Schuyler, though he is my chief rival for the governorship of this state, I can say is one of our best men. If the New England people would only support him as they ought, I think there would be no question as to the outcome."

"Are they not supporting him?"

"Not as they ought to."

"Why not?"

"Jealousies, petty and local for the most part. The fools don't seem to realize that it is a time for every one to forget himself and for us all to pull together. However, General Washington is aware of all this, and I do not need to explain it to you more fully. We have found out how many there are in the command of General Burgoyne," he added quietly.

"How many?"

"There are three brigades, with General Phillips, General Fraser, and General Hamilton in command. The Hessians have been distributed among these three brigades, with one corps of reserve, and Riedesel, Kingston, and Money in command of the Dutchmen."

"The Dutch butchers!" exclaimed Robert angrily.

​"Yes, I know," replied General Clinton quietly. "I know how you feel, and how most of the people feel, but I don't quite share in the feeling myself."

"You don't? I don't see how you can help it!"

"You must not forget that the German soldiers are not here because they want to be. They belong, body and soul one might almost say, to the man or prince to whom they have sold themselves. And this time the gambling debts of a petty prince must be paid. Besides, King George and Lord North have found it extremely difficult to get the Englishmen to come over here to fight us. Many of them believe we are right, and they are almost willing to fight for the very same things in the old country for which we are fighting in the new."

"But the Hessians are paid for coming," protested Robert warmly, to whom any apology for the presence of the "Dutch butchers" in America was not likely to appeal.

"And are not our own men, you yourself, for example, paid for what you do?"

"That's different," replied Robert, somewhat abashed.

"Yes, it is different, I admit that. We ​must fight these Dutch butchers along with the redcoats, but I don't blame them for being here nearly as much as I do the men in power who sent them. But you can remember that John Burgoyne has more than three thousand of them in his army."

"How many regulars?"

"Something more than four thousand."

"Seven thousand then, all told."

"Many more than that, many more, for there is the Canadian militia which he expects to join him, to say nothing of all the Indians. Then, too, I know he believes there are hundreds of Tories all about the country who will flock to join his army just as soon as he advances a little farther, or certainly as soon as he wins his first victory."

"Will they do it?" demanded Robert.

"No man knows. It's one of the things for which we must wait before we can really form much of an opinion. Personally, I do not believe there are many Tories around Albany, not nearly so many as the British suppose, and I do not think they will all dare to come out on Burgoyne's side. Certainly not, if we can keep Clinton or Howe from coming up the Hudson and can manage to starve out or hold back, even if we can't head off, Bur​goyne's army. I think I understand pretty well the sentiment of the people, but one never knows. Sometimes even the very men on whom we believe we can most strongly rely are the ones to disappoint us first. Here's a letter I received this morning, for example," he added as he held forth a paper to Robert. "I know the young Dutchman referred to, and I would have relied upon him as much as I would upon you, but you see what Captain Underdunck has to say."

Robert took the letter and began to read: ^[1]

Taken in Tappen Lane between the Hours of Eleven & Twelve O'clock at night Dirck Rykman on Horse Back Heading one David Rake & Peter Lent with a Scouting party from the Enemy; And it appears by Evidence that said Rykman was Privy to the Scout, for said Rykman was Riding up and Down the Lanes at the Said time of night, untill one of our Centinals challenged & Stopt him, and Orderd him to Return home; yet he past the Lane which led Home, went on to meet his party, as appears by the Short aproach of the ​Enemy; after being Chaleng'd by a Second Centinal he then Dismounted, Securd his Sadle, Left his horse in the Lane And Retird to a house where he was taken; then a scermash Ensued, a Negro was wounded and taken who before his Disease, Confes'd that said Rykman was their Leader.

Garret Underdunck, Capt. of the
Orang County rangers.

"Dirck Rykman!" exclaimed Robert, looking up as he had read the letter. "I know him."

"What do you know of him?" inquired the general, gazing keenly at the young soldier before him.

"I know he is a good man. I don't believe it! I don't believe a word of it! That Captain Underdunck does n't know what he's doing. I mean he has made a big mistake," Robert added hastily and in some confusion.

"He appears to think he knows."

"But Dirck is one of the best men we have. I 've stopped at his house, and I know what I'm talking about."

"And you never knew of his having any dealings with the Tories or of the Tories being at his house?"

​"No, sir. That is,—I—" Robert stammered and then stopped in increased confusion, for suddenly he recalled the presence of Russell and the flight of the Tory with Nero. Could it be possible that Dirck had betrayed him? Was the visit of Russell pre-arranged, and had he himself fallen a victim to the combined cunning of the two men? The suggestion was startling, and for a moment Robert was almost staggered.

"You see," said the general quietly, "it is n't safe to be too confident of any one in these trying times."

"But General Washington either trusts a man entirely or he does n't trust him at all, or so I have been told."

"That may be. It is safe to leave the general to follow his own conclusions, but is is n't safe for you."

"Did Mr. Nott go back home?" inquired Robert suddenly.

"Yes. He and two of his boys went last night. Do you know them?"

"No, sir. I brought him word last night of what had happened there."

"Then you were the man, were you? Well, Nott is a good man, one of our best; but he ought not to leave his family there. He 'll ​look after them now and be back in the fort before night. I am hoping you will not have to stop on your way back and be the knightly defender of any unprotected ladies."

Robert's face flushed as he replied, "I did n't stop because I wanted to, General. I don't know how I would ever have got away if it had n't been for Han—for Mrs. Nott and her daughter. Instead of my being the one to defend them, it seems to me they were the ones to help me."

"Doubtless," said General Clinton dryly. "Don't stop there to-day, though, if you can possibly avoid it."

"To-day? I'm not likely to stop there for a good many days yet. It will take me a week to go on and come back again."

"You are not going on. You are to return this morning."

"I am? Why, General Washington told me"—

"Yes, yes. I know. The letter you brought must be taken back to him, and at once. It is more important than you think. I have sent a copy of it on to General Schuyler, and our expresses here can do the work north of us for a time. I have explained many things to you, so that if you lose your letters you ​still may be able to make a good report for us. Have you no coat?" he suddenly inquired.

"No, sir. They cut mine when they took my letter."

"Very well. I 'll have one for you. Take these letters and conceal them so that not even Claud Brown can find them. By the way, if you will get him for us we will never refer again to the letter which you lost on your way up. Now, young man, be careful and don't stop anywhere for anything unless you are obliged to do so."

Robert Dorlon received the letters, and at once departed from the fort to secure his horse and begin his unexpected return to the army in New Jersey.

1. ↑ With the exception of the substitution of "Dirck" for Philip " Rykman, this is an exact reproduction of Captain Underdunck's letter, dated June 25, 1777.

CHAPTER XIII
ASHES

The rest which Robert Dorlon had obtained in the preceding night, the fact that he found his horse also apparently ready for the long journey, as well as the knowledge that the men in Fort Montgomery were confident and hopeful, did much to restore the spirits of the young soldier. The early morning air and the very beauty of the scenery through which he was passing also combined to increase his confidence as he rode swiftly forward. There was a haze upon the summits of the purple hills and an air of peacefulness over all the region that in themselves were marvelously comforting, and when Robert had left the fort some miles behind, it almost seemed to him that war was something which had no real existence. Even the winds had died away, and the Hudson itself, as he obtained occasional glimpses of its waters, was as quiet as the peaceful landscape all about him.

When, however, two hours had elapsed and he found himself once more near the abode of ​Dirck Rykman, the full sense of his own peril returned once more in full force upon him, It was here that he had first encountered danger on his journey up the shore, and the sharp recollection of what General Clinton had informed him concerning the arrest of the young Dutchman brought back to him forcefully the knowledge that he himself was on dangerous ground, and that, if reports were to be believed, even his trusted friend had proved recreant to the cause of the struggling Americans.

At the thought he checked the speed of his horse and, as he proceeded more slowly, gazed keenly about him. The singing birds, the metallic sounds of crickets, the chattering of squirrels, were all that broke in upon the silence of the summer day. Not a man had been seen since he had departed from the fort, but Robert was aware now that all these things did not protect him from the sudden call, or the sharp report of guns of men who might be concealed somewhere within the silence of the woods through which he was passing. His anxiety increased, and, as he climbed the hill and perceived the humble abode of Dirck Rykman, not many yards in advance of him, he increased his precautions ​and looked carefully to the priming of his pistol.

He was aware that haste was required on his part, for the general had explained the importance of the letter which Robert had this time concealed in his shoe; but he was eager to learn if the report concerning Dirck had been correct, and he also comforted himself by the assurance that he would in the end save time by giving his horse an occasional rest. Whatever the motive may have been that at last controlled him, at all events he turned aside from the road and approached the rear of the log house in which Dirck Rykman had dwelt for two years, and where he himself had been received with such cordial and simple hospitality on the occasion of his former visit. He had not perceived any one about the place as he drew near, and the silence but increased his feeling of uneasiness when he halted a few yards from the door.

Still retaining his seat on the back of his horse, and with one hand on the butt of his pistol, he leaned forward and in a low voice cried, "Dirck ! Dirck! come out here!"

He waited a brief time but no response was given to his hail, and then he repeated his ​summons in a louder tone. "Dirck! Are you in the house? Come out here a minute!"

"What it was you want?"

Robert turned sharply in his seat as the unexpected question came from behind him, and beheld Dirck's wife and little girl approaching from the barn.

"You startled me, Mina!" he said foolishly, thrusting his pistol back into his belt. "And how is the little Mina?" he added lightly, glancing down at the child, and then in response to her pleading bending low and swinging her up on the seat before him on the horse's back.

"She was well, as you see," said the child's mother simply.

"Mina, where is Dirck?" inquired Robert quickly.

"He was not here."

"Where is he?" a fear creeping into Robert's heart, as he spoke, that Captain Underdunck's letter was not based upon an entirely false rumor.

"I do not know. He was not here all night. I was afraid." There were no tears in Mina's eyes, and her voice did not break as she spoke, and yet her anxiety and suffering were so apparent that Robert's own heart in​stantly responded. Her appearance was not unlike that of some dumb and patient animal under suffering.

"Where did he go, Mina?" he inquired gently.

"He was not here after supper."

"Did any one come for him?"

"Yaas."

"Who was it?"

"It was the man what was here before, sometimes. You was here too, may be."

"Do you mean it was the man who was here night before last, when I was?"

"Yaas. It was the man."

"It was!" exclaimed Robert. "Are you certain of it, Mina?"

"Yaas," replied the woman simply.

"Do you know what he said?"

"Nein. They talk some long times in the barn."

"Did n't he come into the house?"

Mina shook her head, but did not speak.

"What did Dirck do, then? Which way did he go? Did they go away together? Did n't he leave any word with you? Did n't he say where he was going?"

Dirck's wife stared blankly at Robert as he excitedly asked his questions, but apparently ​they were too quickly spoken to permit her to comprehend their meaning.

"Mina," began Robert, perceiving his mistake and endeavoring to speak more clearly and not unduly to alarm the woman, "did n't Dirck tell you where he was going?"

"Yaas."

"He did? Where was it?"

"He was going to Esopus."

"With that man?"

"Yaas."

"What was he going for? When did he say he would come back?" Robert's eagerness was returning again, but he repressed himself by an effort, for his hope of receiving a reply to his questions depended much upon himself, as he was aware.

"There was some one sick."

"Did Rus— Did the man tell him that?"

"I do not know. Dirck told me."

"Did he go with the man?"

"Yaas."

"And he did not tell you when he expected to come back?"

"Yaas, he told me."

"When was it?"

"Last night. But he don't was come back yet," she added, shaking her head.

​"Has any one else been here?"

"Nein. I was all alone with Mina. Dirck don't leave me sometimes before."

"If Dirck does not come back for a day or two, what will you do, Mina?"

"If Dirck was not come back?" Mina's blue eyes stared at him in a manner that made Robert's heart ache, and yet from the knowledge he had he was convinced that something must be done, for Dirck was not likely to return soon.

"Yes. You know, Mina, that in days like these no man can tell surely just what he will do. I don't believe anything has happened to Dirck, that is, I don't believe he has been harmed," he added in some confusion, "but one never can tell just how long he 'll be gone from home." He was trying to comfort the woman and at the same time prepare her for what he feared was likely to be a prolonged absence on the part of her husband. A half dozen various explanations for what had occurred had flashed into his mind. Dirck's arrest might have been due to a prearranged plan of Russell or the cowboys. And yet if they had merely wanted to secure him, why had they induced him to depart from his home? It must have been a simple matter to seize him, and as ​for caring anything about the sorrow of his wife or the helplessness of his little girl, Robert well knew that they were not accustomed to permit any motives of sentiment to interfere with their plans. But Dirck had been taken by the Orange County militiamen and apparently in the very act of leading the Tories on some expedition, the nature of which Robert could only conjecture. It was almost impossible to conceive of the honest hearted young Dutchman as being false to the colonies; and yet he had been taken after repeated warnings and when he had been followed by the patriot guard. If he only had the time to spare he would look into the matter himself, Robert assured himself, but he must leave that for others to do. Meanwhile what was to become of Mina and her child? One solution that presented itself was to take them with him and leave them at the house of Hannah Nott. There they would be cared for, but it was uncertain what would be done there, and he did not even know whether the family was to remain. Then, too, if Dirck should return to his own home and learn that his wife and child were gone, the confusion would be greatly increased, and instead of aiding he would hinder the safety of all.

​"Mina," he said, after a brief pause, "how far does your mother live from here?"

"Two miles."

"Then if Dirck does not come back by noon I should take Mina and go there if I were you. Dirck will know where to look for you if he comes back and finds that you are not here."

"Yaas."

"You 'll go, will you?" said Robert eagerly.

"Yaas."

"Don't wait too long. You know the way through the woods, and you would do better to take that path than to follow the road. I hope everything will come out all right. I must go on now."

Robert lifted the little Mina gently from her seat on his saddle, dropped her to the ground, and then with a wave of his hand started swiftly down the road. When he glanced behind him he could see that Dirck's wife and child were still standing where he had left them, and there was a fear in his heart that they would not do as he had bidden them. What they were likely to suffer if they were left alone and unprotected he did not dare to dwell upon. Even Hannah and her mother, bolder spirits far, were not safe, and their natural defenders had hastened to their aid ​with the first report of trouble from the cowboy bands.

The thought of Hannah and the possible presence in her home of her father and brothers instantly caused Robert to decide to stop there and inform them of the report of Dirck's arrest and the predicament in which Mina and her little girl had been left. The young express knew that it was not expected of him that he should delay his journey in order to be knight-errant or the defender of the helpless. Speed was one of the foremost demands upon him, and other duties must be left to other men. However, it was not difficult for him to persuade himself that he would lose no time by making a brief stop, and at the same time leave word with Mr. Nott (he was very positive that it was with the father he was to deal) that might be of service to all concerned.

Almost unaware of what he was doing, he quickened the pace of his horse and was soon speeding down the road. Aware of the perils that now might be met, he kept a sharp lookout all about him; but when he arrived at the place where the road branched and he had turned into the one that led past the home of Hannah Nott, still not a man had been seen.

When a half hour had elapsed, so swiftly ​had he ridden, he came to the well-remembered spot where he had turned and had made his way across the lots to Hannah's home. The impulse was still strong upon him, and almost instinctively he turned his horse into the field.

In a brief time he came out beyond the sheltering trees, and eagerly gazed in the direction of the house. A cry of dismay escaped his lips as he looked, for the house was gone, and in its place was a mass of discolored timbers and ashes, from which an occasional curl of smoke could still be seen to rise.

"Burned! Burned to the ground!" he exclaimed, as he sharply drew the rein on his horse and gazed in consternation about him.

There could be no question as to the fate of the house, but there was nothing to indicate what had become of the inmates. He glanced keenly about him in all directions, but the silence and loneliness were only too apparent. Nothing was to be seen of the party that had attacked the place, any more than of the people who had lost their home. The smouldering ashes seemed to imply that the fire had been started hours before this time, and doubtless the men who had been guilty had long since fled. Robert had no question that Clau​dius Brown and his associates had been the guilty ones, and undoubtedly had returned soon after his own departure to engage in their evil deeds. But as Robert slowly advanced, he was in nowise prepared for the sound which suddenly broke in upon the stillness of the summer day.

B GUNNING'S TAVERN

A low moan had been heard from the bushes that grew not far from the kitchen door, and the sound had broken in upon the young soldier's thoughts in a manner that had startled him. He glanced hastily about the place, but still no one could be seen. Robert, his heart beating furiously and a sudden fear sweeping over him, leaned forward on his horse's neck and listened intently. For a brief time the oppressive silence was unbroken, and then once more the sound was heard, and there was no mistaking its meaning or the place from which it had come.

Again looking hastily all about him to make certain that he was not seen by watchful eyes and being led into a trap of some kind, Robert leaped from the back of his horse and cautiously approached the bushes from which the startling sound had issued. He held his pistol in his hands and still was peering intently about him as well as before him. The quiet of the summer day was unbroken, and save for ​the sight of the ruins of the home and the recollection of the sounds that had startled him there was nothing apparently in all the region to alarm him.

Carefully pushing aside the outer bushes, he was startled to behold the form of a man on the ground before him. The groan he had heard was not a fancy, he assured himself, as he at once kneeled beside the prostrate man and gazed into his face to discover if he was any one whom he had known. One glance satisfied him that the man was a stranger. He was dressed in the ordinary garb of the farmers of the region, but there was a bruise on the side of the head that plainly indicated what had befallen him. But the man was unconscious, and had it not been for the sound that he had heard Robert could have easily believed the man was dead.

A careful examination, however, revealed the fact that the heart was still beating; and, satisfied as to that point, Robert hastily rose and going to the well lowered the sweep and lifting the bucket from its place hastened with it to the prostrate man, and at once began to bathe the head of the sufferer with the cold water.

For several minutes he continued in his oc​cupation, but although the man occasionally moaned he still gave no signs of returning consciousness. A whinny of his horse caused Robert to rise hastily and dart out into the open space, but as he was unable to perceive any cause of the horse's uneasiness he soon returned to his place in the bushes.

He was puzzled now to know what to do. The man evidently was a stranger to him, but common humanity demanded that he should not be left in such a plight. Still Robert Dorlon recalled the words of General Clinton, that "he was not to be knight-errant," and that the lives of many men as well as the successful execution of the plans of the leaders of the army demanded that he should make all haste on his return to the camp in New Jersey.

Moved by a sudden impulse, Robert began to search the pockets of the man before him, though he had no other purpose in mind than to discover, if possible, who he might be, and if he belonged in the immediate region, to send some one to his aid. Throwing back the coat of the man, he drew from his inside pocket a letter which, feeling at liberty to open, he at once began to read.

A low whistle escaped his lips as he read, and in a moment he was aware that he had ​made a discovery of importance. It was a message unsigned, and neither was there any address given at the heading of the letter, but in it there was clearly unfolded a plan for the assembling of a band of men who on a certain night were to make a descent upon Esopus and attempt to release the prisoners confined there.

The identity of the man before him was not disclosed by the missive, nor was there any way by which he might learn from whom the letter had come. There was no difficulty, however, in understanding what the plan proposed was to be, for Robert was aware that the few prisoners whom the Americans had taken in the region of the Hudson, together with some suspected persons, were held in Esopus, and the only ones who would be likely to strive to set them free would be the enemies of the patriots. The fact, too, that the man had this letter in his possession was almost proof positive that he did not belong to the side on which Robert stood, and without compunction he thrust the letter into his own pocket and then once more glanced down at the prostrate form.

He was startled as he perceived that the man's eyes were open now, and as it was evi​dent from their expression that consciousness had returned Robert's first feeling was almost one of chagrin. Had the man seen him when he had thrust the letter into his pocket? He could not determine, but the fact that the man had regained consciousness was a solution for one of his perplexing problems, for now he felt that he would be able to leave him and could speedily resume his own journey.

"Are you all right now?" he inquired, bending low as he spoke.

The man did not reply, but the expression in his eyes indicated that he understood what was said.

"I heard you in here," Robert continued, "and I came to see what I could do to help you. I think you 'll soon be all right now."

Still the man made no attempt to reply, though it was plain that he understood.

"I'd stay and help you," said Robert, "only I must go on at once. Is there any one near here to whom you would have me take any word? I could do that much for you."

The man shook his head slightly, but it was sufficient to indicate that he had no message which he desired to be carried.

"Do you know what has become of ​Ha—of Mrs. Nott ? How did the house get on fire ? Do you know where Mr. Nott and the boys are?"

There was a flash in the eyes of the man as Robert eagerly made his inquiries, but still he either could not or would not speak.

"Shall I take you out into the open or leave you here?"

The slumbering fire in the man's expression seemed to blaze for a moment, but he made no reply.

"Shall I leave you here?" again Robert inquired.

The man slightly nodded his head and Robert quickly turned away. Hesitating a moment, the young soldier again turned back and said, "I 'll fill up the bucket again and leave it where you can get at it. You 'll be all right in a little while now anyway, but if I meet or see any one in the road I 'll send him to you."

Ignoring the protest in the man's actions, for he had shaken his head very decidedly at the suggestion, Robert hastily refilled the bucket, placed it close to the side of the apparently helpless sufferer, and then at once remounted his horse and began to ride swiftly on his way. But he was far from feeling at ​ease. The uncertainty as to the fate of Hannah Nott and her mother, the ruined home the disappearance of the men, and the presence of the wounded stranger were all perplexing. Had he been free to follow his own inclinations he would instantly have begun a search for some one who might have aided him in obtaining the information he desired; but his orders were explicit, and he knew also how important it was that he should make the best possible time in returning with the two letters which General Clinton had intrusted to his keeping.

The third letter, the one which he had taken from the pocket of the helpless man, increased his confusion; for if the attempt to release the prisoners at Esopus should be made soon, then certainly the information which he had secured should speedily be placed in the possession of those to whom the defense of the place had been intrusted. It was true there was no date given in the letter, but the very fact that the man had such a letter in his possession at such a time certainly implied that the execution of the plan was designed to be in the immediate future.

Thoughtfully he drew from his pocket a rude sketch of the roads which General Clinton ​had given him at the time of his departure from Fort Montgomery, with the design that if he should choose the back roads, in order to avoid the peril he had met on his way up, he would not be at a loss to decide which to take. And he was now following the suggestions which had been given him, for, instead of returning from the home, or what had once been the home, of Hannah Nott, to the main road which was nearer the river, he had kept on up the hill and was headed now for a region with which he was not so familiar as he was with that in which he had formerly made his journeys. At one place on the map General Clinton had indicated the location of a tavern where he might stop for the first night on his return journey. The keeper of this tavern was Jacob Gunning, a man unknown to Robert, but one in whom the general had implicit confidence, for he had assured the young express that Jacob was a stanch friend of the colonies and that his house was a place where the patriots of the region frequently assembled. However, Jacob Gunning's patriotism was known only to a few, and the general had explained that Robert was to be guarded in what he might say to him in the presence of others, for the man could aid the continentals, ​at least for the present, more if his true position was not generally known.

Relying upon General Clinton's assurance, Robert at last decided to push on to Jacob's tavern and intrust to him the letter he had taken, and instruct him to see to it that the message should speedily be sent to those who were most threatened by the plot.

Relieved somewhat when at last this decision had been made, Robert Dorlon strove to banish all other things from his mind save that of arriving at the tavern in the speediest possible time. Nero appeared to realize that he was homeward bound, and required no urging to make him maintain a swift and steady pace. Occasionally when he drew near to some lonely farmhouse Robert's carefulness increased, and he maintained a keen outlook until he had left the place far behind him. Several times he stopped at the springs by the roadside to enable his horse to take a brief rest, and to rest himself; but every time he soon resumed his journey and found but little difficulty in following the directions which he had received at the fort. Only once did he meet any men, and that was when he had mounted Nero after a halt in a secluded spot where he had eaten the food which he had brought ​with him. Two men on horseback had approached, but though they had looked keenly at him, they had not spoken save to salute him gravely, and at once passed on. Robert was aware that they were both gazing at him as he rode on up the hill; but he had pushed steadily forward, and was relieved when he perceived that the strangers were not inclined to turn back or to molest him.

It was between five and six o'clock in the afternoon when he arrived at a house by the roadside which he recognized from the description he had received as the tavern of Jacob Gunning. A man was seated on the low piazza, his chair tipped back against the side of the house and his feet braced against one of the low posts. Robert had received no description of Jacob himself, but the man before him certainly did not present the aspect of the ordinary boniface. He was a tall lanky individual, evidently possessed of great physical strength, but his face was almost expressionless and to all appearances devoid of interest in the coming of a possible guest. At all events he did not move from his position when Robert halted directly in front of him.

"I'm looking for Jacob Gunning's tavern," said Robert. "Is this it?"

​"That's the name it goes by," replied the man, without changing his position.

"Then I 'll stop here for the night," said Robert, leaping to the ground as he spoke. "Is Jacob Gunning here now?"

"I'm Jake Gunning. Nobody hereabouts ever calls me Jacob."

"Then you 're the man I'm after," laughed Robert. "Read that, will you?" he added, holding forth the letter which he had taken from the pocket of the helpless man in the bushes near Hannah Nott's home.

"Read it to me yourself," said Jacob. His voice was deep and guttural, but there was nothing in it to imply any interest in the letter or the stranger.

"I'd rather you would read it," said Robert, glancing uneasily about him.

"Ye need n't be scart. Nobody here 'll hurt ye. Read me the letter."

Suspecting that Jacob was not able to read, Robert stepped to his side and in a low voice read the letter through. The man's face was still apparently impassive as he said,—

"What's that to do with me, I'd like to know?"

"I want you to see that the letter gets at once into proper hands."

​"Who are you?" demanded Jacob sharply, bringing his chair down upon the floor, and for the first time displaying any interest.

"I 've just come from Fort Montgomery," explained Robert.

"Where d' ye get this letter?"

"That does n't concern you," returned Robert. "You have the letter now. Will you see that it gets into the hands of those who ought to have it?"

"Put yer horse in the barn and come into the house." And as he spoke Jacob rose abruptly and entered the open door.

CHAPTER XV
UNEXPECTED GUESTS

Robert, puzzled somewhat by the actions of the landlord, nevertheless at once led his horse to the low barn in the rear of the tavern, and not finding any one there to aid him, began himself to look after the wants of Nero. Everything about the place was strange, not the least strange being the actions of the boniface. While he was watering and feeding his horse, for he had discovered a bin of oats and had appropriated what he required, Robert was thinking of Jacob Gunning, and had it not been for the positive assurance of the general he would have been inclined to be suspicious of the man.

"Find what ye want?"

Robert glanced up quickly at the unexpected inquiry and beheld Jacob standing on the barn floor and watching him with evident interest. So quiet had been the man's approach that he had not been aware of his presence until Jacob had announced it by his unexpected question.

​"Yes, sir, thank you. I 've been helping myself to what I could find."

"That's right. My man left me yesterday an' I have n't found one yet to take his place. I want to talk with ye about that letter," he added in a lower voice and drawing nearer to Robert. "When d' ye get it?"

Thus bidden, and recalling General Clinton's confidence, Robert decided to relate what had occurred at the home of the Notts, and in a few words he told the landlord his recent experiences there. Jacob's bearing had changed now and much of his apparent indifference was gone. He did not once interrupt Robert until his story was all told. Then he said abruptly, "Why don't ye take it yerself?"

"I can't do it."

Why not?"

Robert hesitated a moment and then said, "I must push on for Morristown. Have you heard anything of what our army is doing?"

"Last reports were that 't was n't doin' much of anything. I don't know of but two ways to get this letter where it belongs. One is to take it myself an' t' other is to let my gal take it. I'd go myself but I must n't be away from here for a day or two just now."

​"Why not? What's awry?" demanded Robert quickly.

"Nothin' as yet. I 'll let Betsey go," Jacob said, after a moment of thought. "When ye goin' to push on?"

"Early to-morrow morning."

"Why don't ye go to-night?"

"I want to give my horse a rest; and then, too, I may be better off myself if I get a few hours of sleep. Why? Is there any special reason why I ought not to stop?"

"I dunno's there is," replied the man hesitatingly. "I 've heerd that some o' Claud Brown's gang is hereabouts."

"You have? You have?" demanded Robert quickly. "What are they doing so far back from the river as this?"

"Oh, this is a part o' their stampin' ground. They 're first in one place an' then in another, and then again they 're somewhere else."

"I don't want to meet any of them," said Robert thoughtfully.

"Ye won't have to if ye push on. Come in an' get some supper, anyway, an' then we can tell afterwards what's best to be done. I don't want to get ye into any trouble."

The man appeared to be sincere, and Rob​ert was too seriously troubled by what had been said to be unduly suspicious of one whom General George Clinton had declared to be absolutely trusty. He turned away from the barn when the man had gone, hastened to the rear of the house, and, going to the well which stood near the barn, he drew a bucket of water, and using some "soft soap" that was in a near-by keg, he soon removed the traces of his journey from his hands and face. While he was busy with his ablutions he heard the sounds of a horse departing from the yard; and glancing quickly up, perceived that a young girl not more than fifteen years of age was riding from the place on horseback. Doubtless this girl was "Betsey," and she was already started on the journey with the letter he had given to the landlord, he concluded; and when she had disappeared from sight in the road that led into the forest, he entered the tavern, and soon was seated at the table where his supper had been prepared for him. Jacob had not appeared since the interview in the barn, and Robert was left to his own meditations. Before his supper had all been eaten he had decided that he would remain where he was for a part of the night anyway. His horse had had a hard day and needed a rest, ​and even if Claudius Brown's gang was in the vicinity, his own safety would be increased if he was with a friend instead of trying to make his way in the darkness over an untried and unfamiliar road.

He was relieved by the decision, and was about to push back his chair from the table when he was startled by the sound of voices of men in front of the tavern.

"Ho, there!" some one called in a voice that seemed to roll through the house and could be heard in every part of the building. "Come out and get our horses! We 're waitin', but we shan't wait long!"

Surely he recognized that voice, Robert assured himself, and trembling in his excitement he ran to the door of the room and peered cautiously out at the two men who now had dismounted and were standing on the steps, each holding the bridle of his horse in his hand. One glimpse was sufficient to convince Robert that he had not been mistaken, but his fears increased when he perceived that in addition to "Josh," the huge guard who had kept him in the hut into which the Thirteen had taken him, was Russell, the man whom he left asleep on his blanket in the same hut when he himself had been summoned by ​Claudius Brown, and by mistake given the letter which the treacherous Tory was to have received.

In a moment Jacob Gunning appeared, coming from the barn at the boisterous summons, and, almost fascinated by what he saw, Robert still peered forth from behind the door and listened intently to what was being said.

"Well, Jake, got a bite for us?" roared Josh.

"I never turned ye away empty yet, did I?" replied the landlord.

"Jake, we 're looking for a man," broke in Russell. "Have you seen him?"

"Well now, that's a little too much. Course I 've seen men, but how'd I know it might be the p'tic'lar man you was wantin'?"

"Tell us who has been here," suggested Russell.

"To-day?"

"Yes."

"Let me see, there was two men 'long here 'bout noon. One o' 'em was not named Nott"—

"Have you heard about the Notts?" interrupted Russell.

"Course I have. Ye don't s'pose there's ​much goin' on 'tween here an' the Hudson I don't hear 'bout, do ye?"

"You say there were two men here about noon?"

"That's jest what I said."

"Did they stop here?"

"Only long 'nough t' ask th' same questions you 're askin'."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told 'em I had n't seen anybody here. Bus'ness has been all-fired poor ever since th' war"—

"Did one of these men have a scar on his left cheek?"

"Yes. I'm not sure 't was th' left cheek, though. Let me see. Yes, I guess 't was th' left cheek, after all. I wasn't sure at first."

"That's all right," roared Josh. "We saw both men back here."

"Any one been here since they went away?" demanded Russell.

"Let me see. Yes, there was a man here."

"Young man?"

"He was n't so very old."

"About twenty?"

"I did n't ask him, but I should say he was 'bout that. He was as strong as a young bull an' as full o' grit an' ginger as an egg o' meat. ​When I see him I thought he'd give a lively tussle to 'most any man that took hold o' him."

"Yes, yes," said Russell nervously. He was a slight man in physique, restless, energetic, and alert, and it was evident why he had the huge Josh as a companion. "Is he here now?"

"Th' last I see o' him he was goin' out th' barn door."

"How long ago?"

"Well now, I can't say exactly."

"You know, Jake. Tell us, for it's more important than you think."

"Ye don't say so! I see he was a smart chap, but I did n't know he was so important as all that."

"How long ago was it when he left?" demanded Russell impatiently.

"Well now, 't was quite a spell. Quite a spell, I should say."

"Was it an hour, or two, or three?"

"I 'll go an' ask Nancy. My wife always keeps track o' those things better'n I do. She seems t' have a better head for such things 'n I have."

"Josh, we 'll stop here and get some supper," said Russell sharply, turning to his companion as he spoke. "Jake can't tell us much, ​but the fellow has been here and we 'll get him before it's light. He won't go on very far in the night."

"That suits me," roared Josh. "I 'll put out the horses an' you can go in an' get ready for supper. I'm all ready now," and the roaring voice seemed to boom throughout the house.

"I 'll go in an' tell Nancy ye 're here," suggested Jacob. "You can wait here or go out t' th' well an' wash up."

As Russell started toward the well, Jacob quietly entered the house. In a moment his manner had changed completely, and instead of the lazy appearing, lawless man that he had been a moment before, he was now alert and the expression of his face had become keen and eager. Stepping softly from his hiding-place, Robert held up his hand warningly as the landlord approached, and Jacob quickly nodded his head in token that he understood.

"They 'll see yer horse, but Josh is such a lunkhead he may not know it," whispered Jacob. "They 're after you though, and no mistake."

"What shall I do?" inquired Robert, in a whisper.

For a moment Jacob hesitated and then said ​quietly, "Can ye stand it to stay right here behind this door?"

"Yes."

"Then ye better do it. I'm afraid ye'd be heard or seen if ye was to try to get away now. Besides, ye may hear somethin' to yer advantage."

Robert quickly took a position behind the door which Jacob pushed back against the wall, and then placed a rock, which was used to hold it in place, against it to prevent it from moving from its position. He then went into the kitchen and gave his directions to his wife, who at once began to prepare supper for the latest comers.

A half hour had elapsed when the two men entered the room and seated themselves at the table where Robert himself had recently been, and the boniface remained to attend to the wants of his guests himself. In his hiding-place Robert could hear every word that was spoken, but he knew that his peril would be great if he should be discovered. He had more fear of Russell with his quick ways than of Josh with his great strength but ungainly and awkward form ; but at the worst there were only two to be faced, and somehow Robert believed that, in the event of serious trouble, ​he might rely upon the landlord himself. However, the young soldier was eager to hear what was being said, and as soon as the two men were seated, Jacob began the conversation.

"What did ye want t' get the young chap for?" he inquired.

"We need him," replied Russell tartly.

"Have you joined the Thirteen?"

"I joined it? Hardly," laughed Russell a bit nervously. "I use it. I am a good friend of theirs and of you, and a good many others."

"Ho, ho!" roared Josh.

"What was this trouble at the Nott's?"

"There was n't any trouble."

"I understood their house was burned up."

"It was; but it was n't any trouble to do that."

"What has become o' th' folks?"

"Who?"

"Why, the Notts."

"I can't tell you."

"Don't you know?"

"Yes."

"But ye won't tell? Is that it? Well, all I can say is I'd rather have Johnnie Burgoyne after me than Nott an' his boys."

"The boys are not so bad as the girl."

​"Sho! Ye don't mean it! I did n't know she was such a tartar."

"She is now where she"—began Russell, but he stopped and abruptly rose from his seat and quickly ran toward the door.

HEREABOUTS DISCOVERED

For a moment Robert was convinced that his presence in the room had been discovered. He leaned back against the wall and drew his pistol, resolved to make a desperate attempt to defend himself if he should be attacked. The color had fled from his face, but every nerve and muscle in his body was tense, and he was prepared to exert himself to the utmost.

"Where ye goin', Russell?" roared Josh.

The man did not respond to the question of his companion, but quickly passed out of the room and advanced to the piazza, and then went on to the barn; but in a brief time he returned and quietly resumed his place at the table. He glanced keenly at Jacob as he did so, but his quiet manner was unchanged, and to all appearances he was still unsuspicious.

"What's the trouble, Russell?" demanded Josh.

"There does n't appear to be any particular ​trouble, Josh," replied Russell quietly, "and I don't think there will be any if Jacob here is as good a friend to us as he appears to be."

"Oh, Jake's all right," responded the giant with a roar. "It is n't the first time he has helped us to a meal and made no charge for it."

"Jake will be paid this time," said Russell quietly.

The landlord had not spoken during the conversation since Russell had returned to the room, but there was nothing in his appearance to indicate that he was in any way suspicious of his visitors. Robert was still keenly excited, though his first fear of discovery had in a measure departed, and he was listening with bated breath to what was being said.

"Yes," repeated Russell, his voice still not changing in the slightest, "Jake will be paid this time. It's only fair that he should be. I know he's been good to us, and when we 've had no money with us he has chalked up the score, but he knew we were men who did n't forget our accounts."

"I have n't asked ye for any pay, have I?" demanded the landlord tartly.

"Not a farthing, Jacob, not a farthing."

​"What's all this talk about then, I would like to know?" demanded Jacob.

"Oh, it's all Josh's foolishness," replied Russell lightly. "I say, Josh," he added, turning to his huge companion as he spoke, "have n't you eaten enough?"

"Have I?" responded Josh blankly, pausing in his occupation for a moment.

"Yes, I think you have. We must be pushing on. Better take a look at your pistols before we go. See that the priming is all right." As he spoke Russell drew forth his own weapon, and, apparently examining its priming, placed it on the table before him. His companion followed his example but laughed as he thrust the weapon back into his belt and said, "I don't know 's I care much 'bout such popgun affairs anyhow. As long as I 've got that 'long with me, I 'm not scared o' any mortal man I 've ever yet set eyes on." As he spoke Josh held up his immense and shapeless fist for the inspection of the men.

"I'd rather be hit by a bullet than by that bunch of bones, had n't you, Jake?" laughed Russell, turning to the landlord.

"I don't believe I'd choose either one o' 'em," replied Jacob quietly.

"But that's just what you 'll have to do, ​Jake," responded Russell, grasping his own weapon as he spoke, though the tones of his voice did not change.

"I guess not just yet."

"Yes, you will. I mean just what I say."

Robert could hear the words and instantly was excited, aware that a crisis of some kind was at hand. Josh stared stupidly first at Russell and then at the landlord, but apparently his excitement had deprived him of the power of utterance. Jacob's face slightly changed, but he did not betray any fear, at least by any movement on his part.

"Jake, you know me well enough to understand that I mean what I say, don't you?" began Russell.

"I think I 've heard ye talk before, if that's what ye mean."

"Now, Jake, there's just one chance for you. If you take it, all well and good; but if you don't you 'll have no one to blame but yourself. Now then, whose horse is that in your barn?"

"You 've got one there yourself," responded the landlord quietly.

"That won't do, Jake. You must answer my question. No, I 'll answer it myself and then I 'll ask you another. You have in your ​barn the horse that belongs to a young rebel named Robert Dorlon."

"Ye don't say so!" exclaimed Jacob in apparent surprise.

Russell laughed as he said, "That won't do, Jake. I know the horse and I know the man. I 've got the horse and what I want now is the man. Where is he?"

"How d' ye s'pose I know?" Still there was no evidence of fear on the part of the landlord and he spoke in the same tones he had used before.

"Where is he, Jake?" demanded Russell.

"I never heerd o' Robert Dorlon in all my life before this minute."

"Where is he?"

There was a moment of intense stillness in the room, which Robert almost felt could be heard, so excited was he in his hiding-place behind the door. By an effort he restrained himself and waited impatiently for the landlord to act, for he could hardly believe that Jacob would quietly submit, when he was aware that help was so near.

"I can't tell ye," said Jacob at last. "I did n't know there was such a man in the world as Robert Dorlon."

"Very well. We 'll acknowledge all that ​You did n't know the man's name, but he came here, for his horse is in your barn and he himself can't be very far away. We don't want to make any trouble for you, Jake. As far as I know you 've always been a good friend to us. Now, where is he?"

"I can't tell ye."

"Have you any choice between Josh's fist or my pistol?"

"What d' ye mean?"

"Just what I say."

"There was a young chap got supper here," began Jacob.

"Ah, I thought you would begin to recollect," said Russell quietly.

"He put out his own horse. I have n't got any man here now."

"Where is young Dorlon?"

"I did n't see him when he put his horse in the barn. He came into the house and Nancy cooked some supper for him, same 's she did for you. He then, 's far 's I rec'lect, went out o' th' room"—

The landlord stopped as a sound was heard outside the room, but though it quickly ceased Russell's suspicions apparently were aroused, for he said quietly to his companion, "Just go out and see what that was"—

​"’T was only Nancy," interrupted the landlord.

"Go out and see what it was, Josh," continued Russell, apparently ignoring the interruption, "and while you are out there get the three horses all ready for a start. Jake here seems to prefer my pistol to your fist. I am deeply interested in his story and I doubt not I 'll come to the most interesting part in a minute now."

Josh arose and with apparent reluctance departed from the room.

"Now then, Jake," said Russell more sharply when his comrade had gone, "I am not a very patient man, though I might seem to be from the way in which I 've been listening to you. What I want of you is for you to tell me right now where young Dorlon is hidden."

"Yes, I think I did hear ye mention that before," drawled Jacob.

"I can put a bullet into you before you can stir a hand. You can see that for yourself, can't you?

"Well, I s'pose ye could. If ye can hit a barn door at a distance o' two yards ye ought t' be able to hit me. I 'll take yer word for it."

​"Oh, I mean what I say, Jake.

"So I heerd ye remark before."

"For the last time I'm asking you where he is."

"Where who is?"

Before Russell could reply or act, the door was suddenly pushed back from its place and with a leap Robert Dorlon threw himself upon the man. In the fierceness of his attack the chair in which Russell had been seated was overturned and the man himself was thrown to the floor. With incredible swiftness the landlord also threw himself upon the prostrate man, his hand was held over his mouth, the pistol was wrenched from his hand and the Tory was completely helpless in the grasp of his captors.

"Gag him! Be quick! Josh will be back here in a minute," said Jacob, and Robert instantly followed the directions. A cloth was tied about the man's face, his hands were speedily bound, and then with a savage jerk Jacob lifted him to his feet, while he stared into his eyes with a rage that was as great as it was unexpected in a man of the landlord's ordinary calm demeanor.

"Seems t' me," he said in a low voice, "ye wanted t' know where young Dorlon was, ​did n't ye?" he repeated, shaking his helpless prisoner savagely as he spoke.

Russell, whose eyes could be seen above the bandage on his face, and in which an expression of great fear had appeared, nodded his head.

"Oh, ye did, did ye? Did ye want to see him real bad?"

Again Russell helplessly nodded his head.

"Well, here he is! Here he stands right in front o' ye. Ye satisfied now?"

The prisoner indicated that his satisfaction was complete.

"Now, then, ye want t' go back, I s'pose t' Claud Brown and his gang. I 've a mind t' let ye go, and then ye can tell 'em that ye asked me to tell ye where Robert Dorlon was. Ye might tell 'em, too, that I even went so far 's to stand him right in front o' yer eyes an' that ye did n't 'pear t' be a bit better satisfied then than ye were afore. But I'm not goin' t' send ye back now. Not just now. I can't bear to have ye leave me"—

"Josh will be back here in a minute," interrupted Robert.

"Let him come," said Jacob; "we 'll serve him the same way."

"No! no!" protested Robert. He whispered ​in Jacob's ear a suggestion that instantly caused the landlord to open the door of a wood-box that had been built into the side of the room, so that wood might be thrown into it from a wagon driven close to the outside of the house. Then lifting Russell bodily in his arms, he threw him into the wood-box and hastily closed the door upon him. Robert quickly took his position again behind the door where he before had been concealed, and the angry Jacob had barely pushed back the stone into its place when the huge Josh reëntered the room.

"Where's Russell?" demanded the giant, as he stared blankly about the room.

"He found the man he was looking for," replied the landlord tartly.

"He did? Well, I thought he'd prevail on ye t' make him show up," and, throwing back his head, Josh laughed loudly. "Where is he now?' he demanded.

"The last I saw o' him, he 'd started toward the woods."

"Who? Russell?"

"Yes. He was movin' fast, too."

"Did the young chap get away from him?"

"They were n't far apart when I last see 'em."

​"They were n't? What direction did he go in?"

"That way," said Jacob tartly, pointing directly toward the wood-box as he spoke.

But Josh was not interested in the wood-box, for he was looking out into the woods beyond. "I 'll go after 'em," he said shortly.

"That's right, Josh," suggested Jacob. "They 've got a little th' start o' ye, but if ye do yer prettiest, an' don't give up, ye may be able t' catch up with 'em."

Josh darted out of the house, and as soon as he was gone Robert stepped forth from behind the door.

"Now's yer time. Start, an' don't let th' grass grow under yer feet," said Jacob.

"But I don't want to leave you here"—began Robert.

"Never ye mind me. Russell's where he can't do any harm, and Josh's just like a big boy. I can send him 'bout his business in short order."

"What 'll you do with Russell?"

"Don't ye worry 'bout him, nor me either. When ye do start, take all three horses. Ye may find use for 'em, if ye get through all right."

"I 'll do it, and I 'll tell what you 've done, ​Jake. You won't lose by it!" Robert turned as if he was about to go, but suddenly he said: "It will be a good thing for me to search that man Russell before I go. I might find a letter or something on him that the general would be glad to get."

"You do it, then. I don't want t' have anything t' do with it."

Robert stepped forward and opened the door of the wood-box, but a cry of dismay escaped him which instantly brought Jacob Gunning to his side.

"He's gone!" gasped Robert.

The fact was too apparent to be denied, and the open door on the outer side of the wood-box left no question as to the exit which the prisoner had employed.

This article uses material from the Wikipedia article  Metasyntactic variable, which is released under the  Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.