"Dear Cozzen Michael,—I am not permitted to accompany you today to Johnstown it being a racing day and I pledged to attend with Lady Shelton and divers respectable ladies and gentlemen."And oh Micky why did you say such things to Lord Dunmore last night? I have been ill of it all night and in a fever for fear they may harm you, though Lady Shelton assures me your person is safe, being a deputy of Sir William, and further says that you are an unmannerly and bold rebel and desires not your presence in her house, and desires me to inform you. Oh Micky what have you done? I do not desire any longer to wed Lord Dunmore and be a Countess, but I had not thought to have you speak so to Lord Dunmore. He came here last evening in a white fury and showed me the letter you had written to him. He says that you are not the messenger he expected, though you may be a deputy, and he vows he will not be so vilely used, and he will not give me up but will publish the banns to-day in Pitt, come what may. Which has frightened me so I write to you that I do not wish to be a countess any more and would be glad to go to Aunt Molly and Sir William."I will rise from bed at eleven o'clock to-night and go out into the orchard with Black Betty. Pray you cozzen, greet me with a post-chaise and take me away from these dreadful, dreadful people."Your cozzen,"Felicity."Postscriptum"To witt, I will not wed you though we be affianced, and I will wed no man upon your recommendation. With your own affairs I pray you be dilligently active and concern yourself not with mine hereafter."
"Dear Cozzen Michael,—I am not permitted to accompany you today to Johnstown it being a racing day and I pledged to attend with Lady Shelton and divers respectable ladies and gentlemen.
"And oh Micky why did you say such things to Lord Dunmore last night? I have been ill of it all night and in a fever for fear they may harm you, though Lady Shelton assures me your person is safe, being a deputy of Sir William, and further says that you are an unmannerly and bold rebel and desires not your presence in her house, and desires me to inform you. Oh Micky what have you done? I do not desire any longer to wed Lord Dunmore and be a Countess, but I had not thought to have you speak so to Lord Dunmore. He came here last evening in a white fury and showed me the letter you had written to him. He says that you are not the messenger he expected, though you may be a deputy, and he vows he will not be so vilely used, and he will not give me up but will publish the banns to-day in Pitt, come what may. Which has frightened me so I write to you that I do not wish to be a countess any more and would be glad to go to Aunt Molly and Sir William.
"I will rise from bed at eleven o'clock to-night and go out into the orchard with Black Betty. Pray you cozzen, greet me with a post-chaise and take me away from these dreadful, dreadful people.
"Your cozzen,
"Felicity.
"Postscriptum
"To witt, I will not wed you though we be affianced, and I will wed no man upon your recommendation. With your own affairs I pray you be dilligently active and concern yourself not with mine hereafter."
When I had again read the letter I examined the wax. The paper had been carelessly folded and more carelessly sealed; and I called to Mount and the Weasel, pointing out that, though the letter was unsealed, the wax itself had not been broken.
"I do not think," said I, "that this letter has deliberately been tampered with. This is only carelessness."
"It was certainly sealed and folded in haste," remarked the Weasel, poking at the wax with his forefinger.
Mount also pretended to believe that negligence or haste accounted for the open letter, and, satisfied, we sat down to discuss the measures to be taken for a fortnight flight.
I had a mind to follow Silver Heels to the races, trusting that I might find a moment to warn her most solemnly not to fail us. Mount thought the idea most wise, offering to bear me company, and the Weasel agreed to remain and assist Rolfe to equip and furnish our post-chaise with the necessaries for a long journey.
It was understood between us that Silver Heels and Black Betty were to ride in the chaise, and I with them; that Mount and the Weasel would sit the horses as postilions, and that Shemuel should ride atop. It was further decided that, as the northern and western frontier were impassable in view of the border war, we should take the post-road to the Virginia border, make for Williamsburg, and from there turn north across Maryland and the Jerseys, reaching Johnstown through New York and Albany.
I gave the Weasel money to purchase powder and ball, which we all lacked, and to buy for me a silver watch and a rifle or firelock to replace the loss of my own. Also, I charged him to purchase pistols for me and for Shemuel, with flint and ball for the same, and to sharpen our knives and hatchets against need.
"You waste breath," observed Mount, yawning. "The Weasel never neglects to file his claws for battle."
"Very well," said I, wincing; "it seems that of us all I alone know nothing of my own affairs."
"You will learn," said the Weasel, kindly, and I was obliged to swallow their well-meant patronage and follow Mount to the street.
"If I had my way," said I, resentfully, "I would take Miss Warren from the races and set out by noon."
"If I had my way," observed Mount, "I should not try to escape to-night at all."
"Why not?" I asked, in surprise.
"Because of that unsealed letter."
"But we agreed it was accident!"
"Ay,weagree, but mayhap there are others yet to disagree."
"Nonsense!" I said.
"Doubtless," said Mount, with the faintest trace of irony, enough to flavour his mild smile with that mockery which hurts the pride of very young men.
Offended, I strode on beside him, and neither he nor I offered to speak again until Mount suddenly stopped in the middle of the King's Road and looked back.
"What's amiss?" I asked, forgetting my sulks.
"Oh, we are followed again," said Mount, wearily.
I stared about but could see nobody who appeared to be observing us. There were numbers of people on the King's Road, trudging through the dust as were we, and doubtless also bound for the races on Roanoke Plain. I saw no vehicles or horsemen: the quality in their chairs and coaches would go by the fashionable Boundary; the fox-hunting horsemen met at the "Buckeye Tavern," a resort for British officers and gentlemen; unpretentious folk must foot it by the shortest route, which was to pass the fortress by the King's Road.
"Are you sure we are followed?" I asked.
"Not quite," said Mount, simply. "I shall know anon. Trust me in this, lad, and take pains to do instantly what I do. Perhaps my life may pay for this day's pleasure."
"I will take care to imitate you," said I, anxiously. "You know how deeply in your debt I stand confessed."
"Good lad," he said, gravely; "I do not doubt you, friend Michael. As for any debt, your courtesy has long cancelled it."
The quaint compliment had a pretty savour, coming from one whose world was not my own.
We were now passing that angle of the fortified works through which the King's Road passes between two block-housen.The sentries, standing in the shadow of the stockade, watched us without visible interest, turning their idle heads to scan the next comer, and stare impudently if it were some petticoat.
So, unquestioned, we passed out into the country, where a few heavily stockaded farms flanked the road, always built on heights, and always free from trees or any cover that might shelter an attacking enemy. Beyond these farms the road became a turnpike, and we stopped at the toll-gate to pay tuppence to the keeper's wife, who sat nursing a baby, one hand on a rifle, which she never let go until the evening brought her husband to keep his perilous vigil there all night.
"No," she said, listlessly, "no Indians have troubled us. Yet, God knows I sleep not while my man is out here in the night, though they send a patrol from the fortress every hour."
Mount earnestly advised her to give up the toll-gate until the border had quieted; but she only stared, saying, "How, then, are we to live?" And we passed on in silence, side by side.
Beyond the toll-gate a broad road curved out from the turnpike, running south, and Mount pointed it out as the road we were to travel that night.
"It crosses the Virginia border by that blue hill yonder," he said, then suddenly jerked his head over his shoulder.
"I think I am right; I think I know the jade," he said, calmly.
"Is it a woman who follows us?" I asked, amazed.
"Ay, a bit of a lass, maybe eighteen or thereabouts."
"You know her?"
"And she me," said Mount, grimly. "Harkee, friend Michael, if you must needs know the truth, her father is—Gad! I can scarce say it to you, but—well—her father is what they call a thief-taker."
"What has that to do with us?" I asked.
Mount spoke with an effort: "Because I have stopped some few purse-proud magistrates upon the highway, they say evil things o' me. That lass behind us means to follow me and tell her lout of a father where I may be found."
I was horrified, and he saw it and stopped short in his tracks.
"You are right," he said, simply; "a gentleman cannot be found in such company. Go on alone, lad; it is right, and I shall bear no malice."
"Jack!" I said, hotly; "do you believe I would cry quits now? Damnation! Come on, sir! I would as soon take the King's highway myself!"
His firm mouth relaxed and quivered a little; he hesitated, then walked forward beside me with a touch of that old swagger, muttering something about gentle blood and what's bred in the bone.
"It's all very well," he said; "it's all very well for some of our people to say that we men are created equal. There's no truth in it. A broodhound never cast whippets, let them say what they will!"
We were now in sight of the flag-covered pavilion on Roanoke Plain, and on either side of us the road was lined with those drinking-booths and peddler-stands and cheap-jack tents which had pitched camps here for the day rather than pay the tax required to sell their wares within the racing-grounds.
Around them the townspeople clustered, some munching gingerbread and pies, some watching the gilded wheel of fortune spin their pennies into another man's pockets, some paying for a peep into a dark shed where doubtless wonders were to be seen for a penny. Ragged children sold colours and cards for the races; peddlers assailed our ears at every step; fortune-tellers followed us, predicting unexpected blessings, which turned to curses when we passed along unheeding; acrobats, tumblers, jugglers, strong men, and merry-andrews hailed us as their proper prey. And, in sooth, had it not been for the sickening knowledge of Mount's peril, I should have found keen pleasure in spending all I had, to see everybody and everything at this show; for I do dearly love strange sights, and in Johnstown I have always viewed them all, with Silver Heels and Esk and Peter, when the season of racing brought these gay folk to our town.
But now I had no stomach for pleasure, nor had Mount, for he scarcely glanced at the booths as we passed, thoughthere was ale there, and sweet Virginia wines, which drew the very honey-bees themselves.
Suddenly Mount said, "This will not do; I have been hunted long enough!"
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Hunt in my turn," he said, grimly.
"Hunt—what?"
"The lass who hunts me. Follow, lad. On your life, do as I do. Now, then! Gay! Gay! Ruffle it, lad! Cut a swagger, cock your cap, and woe to the maid who is beguiled by us!"
The change in him was amazing; his airs, his patronage, his chaff, his lightening wit!—it was the old Mount again, quaffing a great cup of ale, pledging every pretty face that passed, hammering his pewter to emphasize his words, talking with all who would answer him; glorious in his self-esteem, amusing in his folly, a dandy, a ruffler, a careless, wine-bibbing, wench-bussing coureur-de-bois, and king of them all without an effort.
Peddler and gypsy were no match for him; his banter silenced the most garrulous, his teasing pleased the wenches, his gay gallantries made many a girl look back at him, and many a smile was returned to him with delicate surplus of interest.
"Which is the maid?" I asked, under my breath.
"Yonder, stopping to stare at gingerbread as though she had never beheld such a sweet before. Now she turns; mark! It is she with the pink print and chip hat on her hair, tied with rose ribbons under the chin."
"I see her," said I.
She was a healthy, red-cheeked, blue-eyed girl, with lips a trifle over-full and bosom to match withal. She appeared uneasy and uncertain, watching Mount when he raised a laugh, and laughing herself as excuse, though her mirth appeared to me uneasy, now that I understood her purpose.
She had been edging nearer, and now stood close to us, at the entrance to an arbour wherein were set benches in little corners, hidden from prying eyes by strips of painted cloth.
"Will no maid pity me!" exclaimed Mount. "I am far, far too young to drink my wine alone in yonder arbour!"
"I have not been invited," cried a saucy wench, laughing at us over the shoulder of her companion, who backed away, half laughing, half frightened.
"God helps those who help themselves," said Mount, turning to find her who had followed him close to his elbow.
He smiled in her face and made her a very slow and very low bow, drawing a furrow through the dust with the fluffy tail on his coon-skin cap.
"If I knew your name," he said, "I might die contented. Otherwise I shall content myself with a life of ignorance."
She seemed startled and abashed, fingering her gown and looking at her shoe-buckles, while Mount bent beside her to whisper and smile and swagger until he entreated her to taste a glass of currant wine with us in the arbour.
I do not know to this day why she consented. Perhaps she thought to confirm her suspicions and entrap some admission from Mount; perhaps, in the light of later events, her purpose was very different. However, we three sat in the arbour behind our screens of painted cloth, and Mount did set such a pace for us that ere I was aware there remained not a drop of currant in the decanter, no more cakes on the plate, and he had his arm around the silly maid.
Intensely embarrassed and ill at ease with this pot-house gallantry, which was ever offensive to my tastes, I regarded them sideways in silence, impatient for Mount to end it all.
The end had already begun; Mount rose lightly to his feet and drew the girl with him, turning her quietly by the shoulders and looking straight into her eyes.
"Why do you follow me?" he asked, coolly.
The colour left her face; her eyes flew wide open with fright.
"I shall not hurt you, little fool," he said; "I had rather your father, the thief-taker, took me, than harm you. Yes, I am that same Jack Mount. You are poor; they will pay you for compassing my arrest. Come, shall we seek your father, Billy Bishop, the taker of thieves?"
He drew her towards the gate, but she fell a-whimpering and caught his arm, hiding her face in his buckskin sleeve.
Disgusted, I waited a moment, then turned my back andwalked out into the sunshine, where I paced to and fro, until at last Mount joined me, wearing a scowl.
As we turned away together I glanced into the arbour and saw our lass of the ribbons still sitting at the table with her head buried in her arms and her pink shell-hat on the grass.
As for Mount, he said nothing except that, though he no longer feared the girl, he meant, hereafter, to trust to his heels in similar situations.
"It might be less irksome," said I, curling my lip.
"Ay; yet she has a pretty face, and a plump neck, too."
"The daughter of a thief-taker!" I added, contemptuously.
"Pooh!" said he. "She has thirty sound teeth and ten fingers; the Queen of Spain has no more."
As we came to the high stockade which surrounded the Roanoke Racing Plain, a bell struck somewhere inside; there was a moment's silence, then a roar, "They're off!" and the confused shouting of a crowd: "Greensleeves leads! Heather-Bee! Heather-Bee!" which suddenly died out, ceased, then swelled into a sharp yell: "Orange and Black! Orange wins! Baltimore! Baltimore! Baltimore! No! No! The Jersey colt! The Jersey colt! Crimson! Crimson!" A hush; the dull, double thud of galloping; a scramble, a rush, and a hurricane of wild cheers: "Heather-Bee! Heather-Bee! Good Greensleeves! Hi—yi—yi! Hooray!"
"I would I had a sovereign laid on this same Heather-Bee," said Mount, mechanically fumbling in his empty pockets.
I glanced at him in surprise. Had the novelty of our present peril already grown so stale that the shouting of a rabble over a winning horse could blot it out?
He observed my disapproval and took his hands from his pocket-flaps, muttering something about a passion for betting; and I paid the gate-keepers the fee they demanded for us both, which included a card giving us entry to the paddock.
When I entered I expected to see a "sweet and delightsome plain," as the public crier had advertised so loudly with his horn, but truly I was not prepared for the beauty which was now revealed. Bowered in trees the lovely pale green meadow lay, all starred with buttercups and cut by the bronzed oval of the course. Pavilion and field glowed in the colours of fluttering gowns; white and scarlet and green marked the line where half a dozen mounted jockeys walked their lean horses under the starter's tower. The sun blazed down, gilding the chestnut necks of the horses; a cool breezebellied the bright sleeves of the jockeys, and blew the petticoats and ribbons till they flapped like rainbow flags.
Mount was nudging me, sulkily demanding to be informed where bets were placed, and adding that he knew a horse as well as the next man. However, when he proposed that I allow him to double my capital for me, I flatly refused, and reproached him for wishing to risk anything now.
"Well, then," he muttered, "lay a sovereign yourself for luck;" but I paid no attention, and fixed my eyes on the pavilion to search it through and through for Silver Heels.
The longer I searched the more hopeless I felt my task to be; I could see a score of maids in that vast bouquet, any one of which might have been Silver Heels, but was not.
I then sought to discover Lady Shelton, a large, sluggish lady whom I had noticed at Johnstown—not attracted by her beauty, but to observe her how she did eat a barrel of oysters in pickle, when visiting our guard-house with her kinsman, Colonel Guy Johnson.
I could not find her, though there were many ladies in the pavilion who appeared to resemble her in largeness and girth, and in fatness of hand and foot.
With my arm on Mount's, who had fallen a-pouting, I paced the sward, searching the pavilion through and through, unmindful of the battery of bright eyes which swept and raked us with indolent contempt. Where was Silver Heels? Ay, where in the devil's name had the little baggage hid herself? Many ladies and their consorts in the pavilion were rising and passing under a yellow canopy to the right, where there appeared to be a luncheon spread on tables; and I did see and smell large bowls of sweetened punch, Mount smelling the same and thoughtfully clacking his tongue.
"The quality," he observed, "have punch and French wines. Yet I dare wager a pocketful o' sixpences that they have not my depth, and God knows I would cheerfully prove it."
"Nobody is like to challenge you," I said, coldly. "Come, we must find my cousin, Miss Warren, or our journey here fails."
The fox-hunting gentry in pink were coming across the field in a body, spurs glistening and curly horns striking firein the sunshine. As they passed us, clink! clink! over the turf, a strangely familiar eye met mine and held it—the puzzled eye of a young man, dressed in red coat and tops and wearing a black velvet cap. Where had I seen him before? He, too, appeared perplexed, and, as he passed, involuntarily touched the peak of his cap with his hunting-whip. Suddenly I knew him, and at the same moment he left the company and came hastily up to me, offering his hand. The fox-hunter was my old acquaintance, Mr. Bevan, the dragoon, and he had actually recognized me under my sunburn and buckskins. Rivals never forget.
However, there was no mistaking his cordiality, and I should have been an oaf and a churl not to have met him fairly by the hand he offered.
"Sans arrière pensée, sans rancune!" he said, heartily, the French not pleasing me; but I returned his straightforward clasp and told him I bore no more malice than did he.
"I heard you speak in 'Governor's Hall,'" he said, and I saw his eyes twinkle, though his mouth betrayed no mirth, so I only bowed seriously and told him I was honoured by his presence.
"Was not that gentleman Patrick Henry—the one in black who led the poor savage out?" he asked.
"Doubtless you know Patrick Henry better than I do," I answered, cautiously.
He laughed outright.
"Pray, believe me, Mr. Cardigan, I am not prying. It is rumoured that Patrick Henry has been at some rebel tavern in town. A few thought they recognized him in 'Governor's Hall,' and many claim that he wrote that great speech for Logan."
"If he did he is the greatest orator of our times," I said.
"Do you believe he did?"
"No," said I, bluntly.
He looked at me with curious, friendly eyes.
"You have become famous, Mr. Cardigan, since we last met."
"You would say 'notorious,'" I rejoined, smiling.
He protested vigorously:
"No! no! I understand you are not of our party, but,believe me, were I a—a—patriot, as they say, I should be proud to hear a comrade utter the words you uttered in 'Governor's Hall'!"
"Did I say I was a rebel?" I asked, laughing.
"Well," he rejoined, "if that speech did not commit you, we are but a dull company here in Pittsburg."
He glanced after his comrades, who were now entering the canopied space where refreshments lay piled between the bottles and punch-bowls; and he straightway invited me, turning with a bow to include Jack Mount, whom I had not dared present under his proper name.
Mount began to accept with a flourish, but I cut him short with excuses, which Mr. Bevan accepted politely, expressing his regret. Then again he offered me his hand so frankly that I drew him aside, and begged his indulgence and forgetfulness for my boorish behaviour at Johnson Hall.
"The fault was mine," he said, instantly; "I sneered at your militia and deserved your rebuke. Had I not deserved it, I should have called you out, Mr. Cardigan."
"You conducted properly," said I; "on the contrary, I must blush for my churlishness when you favoured my hilt with a ribbon."
His friendly eyes grew grave, and he began bending his hunting-whip into a bow, thoughtfully studying the buttercups at his feet.
After a moment he looked up, saying, "Do you know that this morning the banns were published for the wedding of Lord Dunmore and your kinswoman, Miss Warren?"
So, after all, and in spite of my letter, Dunmore had done this shameful thing! I think my scowling face gave Bevan his answer, for he laid his hand on my arm and looked at me earnestly.
"It is no shame," he said, "for me to tell you that Miss Warren has refused me. How can a heart be humbled which has loved such a woman?"
"She is not a woman yet," I said, harshly; "she is a child, and a wilful one at that! Damnation! sir, it maddens me to see men after her, and she but fifteen!"
"Miss Warren celebrated her sixteenth birthday with a dinner at Lady Shelton's a week since," said Bevan, colouring up.
I thought a moment, frowning and counting on my fingers. Yes, that was true; Silver Heels was sixteen now. But that only increased my irritation, for the danger suddenly assumed menacing proportions, which must increase every moment now that the barriers of childhood no longer barred the men who hunted her.
"I have told you this," said Bevan, stiffly, "because I believed you were in love with Miss Warren, and must suffer great pain to learn of her betrothal to Lord Dunmore."
"And—what then, sir?" I asked, angry and perplexed.
"This, Mr. Cardigan! That my own ill fortune has not left me less devoted to her happiness; that this marriage is a monstrous thing and will one day drive her to despair; that I do most earnestly believe that Miss Warren loves a man more worthy of her."
"What man?" I demanded, sharply.
"You should not ask me that!" he retorted, more sharply still.
"But I do! Confound it, I know from her own lips that she dotes on some conceited, meddling ass! And if I can but lay my hand on his collar—"
Bevan was staring at me in such frank amazement that I bit my words short.
"Did Miss Warren confess that she loved?" he asked.
I assented in silence.
"A—a fool?"
I nodded.
Bevan burst into a bitter laugh.
"Then let me tell you, sir, that I have heard her praise this same meddling fool and laud his every word as Heaven's own wisdom! Ay, sir, and boast of his bravery and his wit and his glorious person till I thought this fool a very god from Olympus, and marvelled at my own blindness in not earlier perceiving it."
"You know him?" I cried.
"Indeed, he is now well known in Pittsburg town, Mr. Cardigan."
"But you—"
"Yes, I know him."
After a moment's silence I said, "Is he worthy of her?"
"What man is?" he answered, quietly.
"Oh, many men; pardon, but you are in love, and so are blinded. I see clearly. I know my cousin, and I know that she is a wilful maid who has raised the devil out o' bounds, and is ready to run to cover now."
Bevan was red in the face.
"It is a kinsman's privilege to criticise," he said.
"A kinsman's duty!" I added. "Were I not jealous for her honour and happiness, I would cry Dunmoremerci!and think my cousin a fortunate maid! Curse him! When I think of that man I can scarce look at my hands so guiltless of the creature's blood. But they will not stay clean long if he pushes me. God help the man who bars our way northward!"
"If you mean to take her," said Bevan, in a low voice, "I wish you godspeed. But how can you pass the fort, Mr. Cardigan?"
"Do you believe Dunmore would detain us?" I asked, blankly.
"I know he would if he heard of it in time."
I thought a moment, then laid my hand on Bevan's shoulder, and, on the impulse, told him what our plans were. He listened in silent sympathy, nodding at times, turning to glance at Mount, who sat under a tree chewing grass-blades and sniffing at the distant punch-bowls.
When I had told him all, he reflected, slowly switching the sod with his whip. Presently he said: "I am glad you told me this. I will be at the King's Road gate to-night. If there is trouble with the sentries I will vouch for you."
His quiet generosity touched me deeply, and I told him so.
"Could a gentleman do less?" he asked, gravely. Then a sudden smile lighted his eyes, and he added: "She will never give up her Olympian god, though she thought to fling him away for his indifference. And, Mr. Cardigan, though this man she loves is truly all she claims, he is, as she told you, the greatest fool on earth!"
"Then he can never have her!" I said, contemptuously.
"Ah—wait!" he replied, with a curiously sad smile. "A fool and his folly are soon parted when in the company of Miss Warren."
"You believe he will follow her? That's what she said, too!" I exclaimed, hotly.
Again he burst into a laugh which was quite free from bitterness.
"Yes, he is certain to follow you," he said. "Black Care rides behind the horseman, but this man will stick closer than your own shadow."
"We'll see," I muttered.
He offered me his hand, pressing mine firmly.
"You know Miss Warren is here?" he asked, cautiously.
"I am seeking her," said I.
"She walked to the hill, yonder, with Lady Shelton, after the last race," he said, pointing with his whip to a wooded knoll which I could just see rising behind the paddocks.
"Dunmore is searching everywhere for her," he added, significantly.
So we parted, I warm with gratitude, he quietly cordial, yet still wearing that singular smile which I could not quite understand.
As for pity, I had none for him, nor did I believe his sorrow could be very profound over his dismissal by Silver Heels. But then I knew nothing of such matters, having never been in love. As for the gentleman-god who had turned Silver Heels's silly head, I meant to deal with him the instant he made his appearance.
Mount, tired of cropping the herbage under his tree, rejoined me fretfully, demanding to know why I had not accepted the invitation to refreshment; and I told him quite plainly that I had no intention to further test his sobriety, in view of the work we had before us.
Together we entered the paddock, where hostlers and jockeys were grooming the beautiful, slender horses, and though I longed to linger, I dared not stay longer than to hug one splendid mare and whisper in her listening, silky ears that she was a beauty without peer.
The boy who was washing her sourly warned me off, doubtless fearing the touch of a stranger, lest he prove one of those miscreants who harm horses. So I passed on, nodding good-bye to the lovely mare, Heather-Bee, as she was called by the name stitched on her blanket.
In the rear of the paddock a path led through a gate and up the wooded knoll. I looked around for Mount; he was plaintively helping himself to a cup of water from the horse-trough spring, so I waited. And, as I stood there, down the path came two fat people, a lady and her escort, picking their way with all the majesty of elephants. I knew Lady Shelton at once; none could mistake that faded and moon-like face with the little selfish under-lip and the folded creases beside a mouth which was made only for feeding. None could mistake those little fat feet, trotting under the daintily raised petticoat.
She scarcely deigned to glance at me; the gentleman beside her paid me no attention; and I was thankful enough that Lady Shelton had not recognized me.
They were waddling down the paddock some distance away when Mount rejoined me, complaining of the cheerless draught which my obstinacy had compelled him to swallow, and we passed the gate and ascended the pretty slope.
We were, perhaps, half-way up the slope, when I heard a footstep behind us and glanced back. What was my astonishment to behold the Weasel trotting along at our heels.
"Where on earth did you come from?" I asked.
"From the 'Virginia Arms,'" he replied, seriously. "I like to be near Jack."
Mount, in pleased surprise, had already laid his great paw on the Weasel's shoulder. Now he smiled at the little careworn man with wonderful tenderness. It was strange, the affection between these two roaming men, the naïve fidelity of the Weasel, the fostering care of the younger giant, whose attitude was sometimes fatherly, sometimes filial.
The Weasel looked back at the course where, already, the bell was striking to warn the jockeys, and where, one after another, the horses cantered out to the judges' stand and stood restively, or backed and pirouetted and reared in the sunshine.
"Have you ever before seen a race?" I asked.
"I? A race?" He waved his hand with a peculiarly sad gesture. "Many a noble horse has carried my colours on Cambridge Downs," he said, simply. "Many a plate have my youngsters won for me, Mr. Cardigan."
He looked out over the green meadow, folding his small, dry hands meekly.
"Lord, Lord," he murmured, "the world has changed since then! The world has changed!"
"Friends have not," murmured Mount.
"No, no, you are quite right, Jack," said Renard, hastily.
"Then who the devil cares how the world may change," snapped Mount. "Come, Cade, old friend, sit you here in the sweet grass and you and I will wager straws on the jockeys' colours yonder, while our young gentleman here lightly goes a-courting!"
I did not choose to notice Mount's remark, knowing that he meant no offence, so I left the pair sitting on the sod and climbed the remaining half of the slope alone.
Now, no sooner had I reached the top of the knoll than I perceived Silver Heels, sitting upon a rock, reading a letter; and when I drew near, my moccasins making no sound, I could not help but see that it was my letter she perused so diligently. It gratified me to observe that she apparently valued the instructions in my letter, and I trusted she intended to profit by them, for Heaven knew she needed admonition and the judicious counsel of a mature intellect.
"Silver Heels," I began, kindly.
She started, then crushed the letter to a ball, thrusting it into her bosom.
"Oh, Michael, you are insufferable!" she cried.
"What!" I exclaimed, astonished.
Her eyes filled and she sprang up.
"I know not whether to laugh or cry, so vexed am I!" she stammered, and called me booby and Paul Pry, drying her eyes the while her tongue upbraided me.
"I am not spying," said I, hotly; "don't pretend that scrawl was a love-letter, for I know it to be my own!"
"Ah—youdidcome spying!" she flashed out, stamping her foot furiously.
"Lord! was there ever such a spiteful maid!" I cried. "I came here to have a word with you concerning our journey this night. I care not a penny whistle for your love-letters. Can you not understand that?"
She turned somewhat pale and stood still. Her under-lip quivered between her teeth.
"Yes," she said, slowly, "I understand."
I had not meant to speak harshly, and I told her so. She nodded, scarcely listening. Then I spoke of our coming journey, which, though it galled me to say so, I explained to her was nothing less than a flight.
She acquiesced, saying she was ready, and that she only longed to leave the town forever. She said that she had known nothing but unhappiness here, and that the memory of it would always be abhorrent, which surprised me, as I had understood that the gentleman-god dwelt hereabouts. However, I said nothing to disturb her or endanger her docility, and we discussed our plans reasonably and with perfect calmness.
I was pleased to see that she already appeared to be in better health. Rouge and patch had disappeared; her colour was better; her eyes brighter; her lips redder. Also, her gown was simpler and more pleasing to me, and her hair bore no extravagant towers, but was sweetly puffed and rolled from her white forehead. Still, her arms were more frail than I liked to see, and there rested a faint bluish shadow under each eye.
"How came you to find me out, here in my retreat?" she asked, slowly.
"Mr. Bevan told me," I replied, watching her.
"Poor Mr. Bevan," she murmured; "how jealous you were of him."
"He is a splendid fellow," I declared, much ashamed.
"So you are already friends," she observed, in a musing way.
"I trust so," I replied, fervently.
"Is it not sudden?" she asked.
But I would not commit myself.
"Silver Heels," I said, "does it not seem good to be together again here in the sunshine?"
"Ah, yes!" she cried, impetuously, then stopped.
Doubtless she was thinking of the gentleman-god.
I sat down on the grass beside her and began pulling buttercups. One I held under her white chin to see if she still loved butter.
"I love all that I ever loved," she said, leaning forward over her knees to pluck a tiny blue bud in the grass.
"Do you remember that day you bit me in the school-room?" I asked, with youthful brutality.
The crimson flooded her temples. She involuntarily glanced at my left hand; the scar was still there, and she covered her eyes tightly with her hands.
"Oh! Oh!Oh!" she murmured, in horror. "What a savage I was! No wonder you hated me—"
"Only at moments," I said, magnanimously; "I always liked you, Silver Heels."
Presently she drew her hands from her eyes and touched her flushed cheeks with the blue blossom thoughtfully.
"Michael," she said, "I—I never told you, but I was very glad when you came to explain to me that night in the pantry."
"Well," said I, stiffly, "you certainly concealed your pleasure. Lord, child, how you scorned me!"
"I know it," she muttered, in quick vexation; "I was a perfect fool. You see, I—I was hurt so deeply that it frightened me—"
"You ought to have known that I meant nothing," said I. "Mrs. Hamilton tormented me till I—I—well, whatever I did was harmless. Anyway, it was done because I thought I loved you—I mean like a lover, you know—"
"I know," said Silver Heels.
"After that," said I, smiling, "I knew my own mind."
"And I knew mine," said Silver Heels.
"And now I know the difference between hurt vanity and love," I added, complacently.
"I, too," said Silver Heels.
"You can't know such things; you are scarcely sixteen," I insisted.
"My mother was wedded at sixteen; she wedded for love."
After a silence I asked her how she knew that, as she had never seen her mother.
"Sir Peter Warren has told me in his letters," she said, simply. "Besides, you are wrong when you say I never saw my mother. I did, but I was too young to remember. She died when I was a year old."
"But you never saw your father," I said.
"Oh no. He was killed at sea by the French."
That was news to me, although I had always been aware that he had died at sea on board his Majesty's shipLeda, one of Sir Peter's squadron.
"Who told you he was killed by the French?" I asked, soberly.
"Sir Peter. A few days after you left Johnstown I received a packet from Sir Peter. It came on a war-ship which put in at New York, and the express brought it. Sir Peter also wrote to Sir William. I don't know what he said. Sir William was very silent with me after that, but just before I left with Lady Shelton to come here, he had a long talk with me—"
She stopped abruptly.
"Well?" I asked.
Silver Heels twirled the blue bud in her fingers.
"He said—to—to tell you if I saw you in Pittsburg—to—to—I mean that I was to say to you that Sir William had changed his mind—"
"About what?" I demanded, irritably.
"Our betrothal."
"Our betrothal?"
"Yes. I am not to wed you."
"Of course not," I said, rather blankly; "but I thought Sir William desired it. He said that he did. He said it to me!"
"He no longer wishes it," said Silver Heels.
"Why?"
"I don't know," she answered, faintly.
I was hurt.
"Oh, very well," I observed, resentfully, "doubtless Sir William has chosen a wealthy gentleman of rank and distinction for you. He is quite right. I am only a cornet of horse, and won't be that long. All the same, I cannot see why he forbids me to wed you. He told me he wished it! I cannot see why he should so slight me! Why should he forbid me to wed you?"
"Do you care?" asked Silver Heels.
"Who—I? Care? Why—why, I don't know. It is notvery pleasant to be told you are too poor and humble to wed your own kin if you wish to. Suppose I wished to?"
After a moment she said: "Well—it's too late now."
"How do you know?" I said, sharply. "I do not see why I should be driven away from you! It is unfair! It is unkind! It is mortifying and I don't like it! See here, Silver Heels, why should Sir William drive me away from you?"
"You have never needed driving," said Silver Heels.
"Yes, I have!" I retorted. "Didn't you drive me away for Bevan?"
After a silence she stole a glance at me.
"Would you come back—now?"
Something in her voice startled me.
"Why—yes," I stammered, not knowing exactly what she meant; "I cannot see that there is such difference in rank between us that Sir William should forbid me to wed you. Of course you would not wed beneath you, and, as for me, I'd sooner cut my head off!"
"I was afraid," she ventured, "that perhaps—perhaps Sir William thought you had become too fine for me. I could not endure to wed you if that were true."
This was a new idea. Was it true that my quality unfitted me to mate with Silver Heels? The idea did not gratify me now.
"I'll tell you this," said I, "that if I loved you in that way—you know what I mean!—I'd wed you anyhow!"
"But I would not wed you!" she said, haughtily.
"You would not refuse me?" I asked, in amazement.
"I should hate you—if you were above me—in rank!"
"Even if you loved me before?"
"Ah, yes—even if I loved you—as I love—him whom I love."
Her clear eyes were looking straight into mine now. Again her voice had stirred some new and untouched chord which curiously thrilled, sounding stealthily within me.
She lowered her eyes to the blue blossom in her fingers, and I saw her crush it. What soft, white fingers she had! The flushed tips, crushing the blossom, fascinated me.
Again, suddenly, my heart began to beat heavily, thumping in my throat so strangely that I shivered and passed my hand over my breast.
Silver Heels bent lower over her idle hands; her fingers, so exquisite, were still now.
Presently I said, "Who is this fool whom you love?"
I had not thought to fright or hurt her, but she flushed and burned until all her face was surging scarlet to her hair.
"Silver Heels," I stammered, catching her fingers.
At the touch the strange thrill struck through my body and I choked, unable to utter a word; but the desire for her hands set me quivering, and I caught her fingers and drew them, interlocked, from her eyes. Her eyes! Their beauty amazed me; their frightened, perilous sweetness drew my head down to them. Breathless, her mouth touched mine; against me her heart was beating; then suddenly she had gone, and I sprang to my feet to find her standing tearful, quivering, with her hands on her throbbing throat. I leaned against a sapling, dazed, content to meet her eyes and strive to think. Useless! In my whirling thoughts I could but repeat her name, endlessly. Other thoughts crept in, but flew scattering to the four winds, while every pulse within me throbbed out her name, repeating, ceaselessly repeating, in my beating heart.
We were so poor in years, so utterly untried in love, that the strangeness of it set us watching one another. Passion, shaking frail bodies, startles, till pain, always creeping near, intrudes, dismaying maid and youth to love's confusion.
With a sort of curious terror she watched me leaning there, and I saw her trembling fingers presently busied with the silken hat ribbons under her chin, tying and retying as though she knew not what she did. Then of a sudden she dropped on the rock and fell a-weeping without a sound; and I knelt beside her, crushing her shoulders close to me, and kissing her neck and hands, nay, the very damask on her knees, and the silken tongue of her buckled shoon among the buttercups.
Why she wept I knew not, nor did she—nor did I ask her why. Her frail hands fell listlessly, scarcely moving under my lips. Once she laid her arm about my neck, then dropped it as though repelled. And never a word could we find to break the silence.
I heard the wind blowing somewhere in the world, butwhere, I cared not. I heard blossoms discreetly stirring, and dusky branches interlacing, taking counsel together behind their leafy, secret screens. My ears were filled with voiceless whisperings, delicate and noiseless words were forming in the silence, "I love you"; and my dumb tongue and lips, unstirring, understood, and listened. Then, when my sweetheart had also heard, she turned and put both arms around my neck, linking her fingers, and her gray eyes looked down at me, beside her knees.
"Now you must go," she was repeating, touching her little French hat with tentative fingers to straighten it, but eyes and lips tenderly smiling at me. "My Lady Shelton and Sir Timerson Chank will surely return to catch you here if you hasten not—dear heart."
"But will you not tell me when you first loved me, Silver Heels?" I persisted.
"Well, then—if you must be told—it was on the day when you first wore your uniform, and I saw you were truly a man!"
"That day! When you scarcely spoke to me?"
"Ay, that was the reason. Yet now I think of it, I know I have always loved you dearly; else why should I have been so hurt when you misused me; why should I have cried abed so many, many nights, vowing to my heart that I did hate you as I hated no man! Ah—dear friend, you will never know—"
"But," I insisted, "you grew cool enough to wed Lord Dunmore—"
"Horror! Why must you ever hark back to him when I tell you it was not I who did that, but a cruelly used and foolish child, stung with the pain of your indifference, maddened to hear you talk of mating me as though I were your hound!—and my only thought was to put myself above you and beyond your reach to shame me—"
"Oh, Silver Heels!" I murmured, aghast at my own wickedness.
But she was already smiling again, with her slender hands laid on my shoulders.
"All that tastes sweetly—now," she said.
"It is ashes in my mouth," I said, bitterly, and upbraided myself aloud, until she placed her fingers on my face and silently signed me to turn around.
At the same instant a wheezy noise came to my ears, and the next moment, over the edge of the slope, a large, round face rose like the full moon.
Fascinated, I watched it; the wheezing grew louder and more laboured.
"Lady Shelton! Oh, go! go!" whispered Silver Heels. But it was too late for flight had I been so minded.
Suddenly my Lady Shelton's fat feet began to trot as though of their own notion, for her cold, flabby features expressed no emotion, although, from the moment her moon-like face had risen behind the hill, I saw that her eyes were fixed on me.
After her puffed the fat gentleman, Sir Timerson Chank, and behind him came mincing Lord Dunmore, fanning his face with a lace handkerchief, his little gold-edged French hat under his arm. Faith, he was in a rare temper.
Lady Shelton paddled up to Silver Heels, halted, and panted at her. Then she turned on me and panted at me until her voice returned. With her voice, her features assumed a most extraordinary change; billows of fat agitated the expanse of chin and cheek, and her voice, babyish in fury, made me jump, for it sounded as though some tiny, pixy creature, buried inside of her, was scolding me.
Sir Timerson Chank now bore down on my left and presently rounded to, delivering his broadside at short range; but I turned on him savagely, bidding him hold his tongue, which so astonished him that he obeyed me.
As for Dunmore, his shrill prattle never ceased, and he danced and vapoured and fingered his small-sword, till my hands itched to throw him into the blackberry thicket.
"If," said I, to Lady Shelton, "you are pleased to forbid me your door, pray remember, madam, that your authority extends no farther! I shall not ask your permission to address my cousin, Miss Warren—nor yours!" I added, wheeling on Sir Timerson Chank.
"Sir Timerson! Sir Timerson! Arrest him! You are amagistrate. Sir Timerson! Arrest him! Oh, I'm all of a twitter!" panted Lady Shelton.
But Sir Timerson Chank made no sign of compliance.
"Lord Dunmore," I said, "by what privilege do you assume to vapour and handle the hilt of your small-sword in Miss Warren's presence?"
"Sink me!" cried Lord Dunmore. "Sink me now, Mr. Cardigan; you should know that I have privileges, sir. I will have you to know that I have privileges, sir! Crib me! but I will assert my rights!"
"Your—what?" I replied, contemptuously.
"My rights! My privilege to defend Miss Warren—my rights, sir! I stand upon them, crib me, if I don't!"
"Shame on you!" cried Lady Shelton, panting angrily at me. "Shame on you—you mannerless, roving, blustering, hectoring rebel!—you—youboy! Oh, I'm all of a twitter! Sir Timerson, I'm all of a twitter!—"
"Oh tally!" broke in Dunmore, peeping at me through his quizzing-glass. "The lad's moon-mad! A guinea to a china orange that the lad's moon-mad. You may see it in his eyes, Sir Timerson. You may see he's non compos—eh, Sir Timerson? Sink me if he isn't!"
How I controlled myself I scarcely know, but I strove to remember that a hand raised to Lord Dunmore, Governor of Virginia, meant the ruin of my plans for the night. As I stood staring at the wizened macaroni, aching to take his sword, break it, and spank him with the fragments, I saw Jack Mount and the Weasel cautiously reconnoitring the situation from the hill's edge.
Ere I could motion them away they had made up their minds that I was in distress, and now they came swaggering into our circle, thumbs hooked in their shirts, saluting poor Silver Heels with a flourish that drew a thin scream from Lady Shelton.
"Trouble with this old scratch-wig?" inquired Mount, nodding his head sideways towards Lord Dunmore.
"Damme!" gasped Dunmore. "Do you know who I am, you beast?"
"I know you're a ruddled old hunks," said Mount, carelessly. "Who may the other guinea wig-stand be, Mr. Cardigan?"
As he spoke he looked across at Sir Timerson Chank, then suddenly his eyes grew big as saucers and a low whistle escaped his lips.
"Gad!" he exclaimed. "It's the magistrate or I'm a codfish!"
"Fellow!" roared Sir Timerson, his face purpling with passion. "Fellow! Thunder and Mars! Lord Dunmore, this is Jack Mount, the highwayman!"
For an instant Dunmore stood transfixed, then he screamed out: "Close the gates! Close the gates, Sir Timerson! He shall not escape, damme! No, he shall not escape! Call the constables, Sir Timerson; call the constables!"
Mount had paled a little, but now as Sir Timerson began to bellow for a constable, his colour came back and he stepped forward, laying a heavy hand on the horrified magistrate's shoulder.
"Come now; come now," he said; "stop that bawling, or I'll put your head between your knees and truss you up like a basted capon!" And he gave him a slight shake which dislodged Sir Timerson's forty-guinea wig.
"You Tory hangman," said Mount, scowling, "if I ever took a penny from you it was to help drive you and your thieving crew out of the land! Do you hear that? Now go and howl for your thief-takers, and take his Lordship, here, with you to squall for his precious constables!" And he gave Sir Timerson a shove over the grassy slope.
Lady Shelton shrieked as Sir Timerson went wabbling down the hill, but Mount turned fiercely on Dunmore and shook his huge fist under his nose.
"Hunt me down if you dare!" he growled. "Move a finger to molest me and the people shall know how you stop public runners and scalp them, too! Oho! Now you scare, eh? Out o' my way, you toothless toad!"
Dunmore shrank back, almost toppling down the hill, which he hurriedly descended and made off after Sir Timerson towards the pavilion.
"Come," said I, "that will do for the present, Jack. Look yonder! Your friend, the magistrate, is toddling fast to trap you. You should be starting if you mean to get out of this scrape a free man."
"Pooh!" replied Mount, swaggering. "I've time to dine if I chose, but I'm not hungry. Come, Cade; we needs must kick some planks out of that stockade below us, if they guard the gates. But we have time to stroll."
The Weasel did not appear to hear him, and stood staring at Silver Heels with an expression so strange that it was almost terrifying. For a moment I feared he had gone stark mad.
"Cade!" repeated Mount. "What is the matter, Cade? What do you see? Not another fat magistrate? Cade! What on earth troubles you, old friend?" And he stepped quickly to the Weasel's side, I following.
"Cade!" he cried, shaking his comrade's arm.
The Weasel turned a ghastly face.
"Who is she?" he motioned, with his lips.
"Do you mean Miss Warren?" I asked, astonished.
"A ghost," he muttered, shivering in every limb.
Presently he began to move towards Silver Heels, and Mount and I drew him back by the shoulders.
"Cade! Cade!" cried Mount, anxiously. "Don't look like that, for God's sake!"
"For God's sake," repeated Renard, trembling.
His eyes were dim with tears. Mount leaned over to me and whispered: "He is mad!" But the Weasel heard him and looked up slowly.
"No, no," he said; "a little wrong in the head, Jack, only a little wrong. I thought I saw my wife, Jack, or her ghost—ay, her ghost—the ghost of her youth and mine—"
A spasm shook him; he hid his face in his hands a moment, then scoured out the tears with his withered fingers.
"Ask the young lady's pardon for me," he muttered; "I have frightened her."
I walked over to Silver Heels, who stood beside Lady Shelton, amazed at the scenes which had passed so swiftly before her eyes, and I drew her aside, mechanically asking pardon from the petrified dowager.
"He is a little mad," I said; "he thought he saw in you the ghost of his lost wife. Sorrow has touched his brain, I think, but he is very gentle and means no harm. Speak to him, Silver Heels. I owe my life to those two men."
She stood looking at them a moment, then, laying her hand on my arm, she went slowly across to Mount and Renard.
They uncovered as she came up; the Weasel's face grew dead and fixed, but the pathos in his eyes was indescribable.
"If you are Mr. Cardigan's friends, you must be mine, too," said Silver Heels, sweetly. "All you have done for him, you have done for me."
Fascinated, Mount gaped at her, tongue-tied, clutching his coon-skin cap to his breast. But the fibre of the two men showed the difference of their grain in a startling form, for, into Renard's shrunken frame came something that straightened him and changed him; he lifted his head with a peculiar dignity almost venerable, and, stepping forward, took Silver Heels's small hand in his with a delicate grace that any man might envy. Then he bent and touched her fingers with his lips.
"An old man's devotion, my child," he said. "You have your mother's eyes."
"My—my mother's eyes?" faltered Silver Heels, glancing fearfully at me.
"Yes—your mother's eyes—and all of her. I knew her, child."
"My—mother?"
He touched her hand with his lips again, slowly.
"I am a little troubled in my head sometimes," he said, gravely. "Do you fear me?"
"N—no," murmured Silver Heels.
Their eyes met in silence.
Presently I took Silver Heels by the hand and led her back to Lady Shelton.
"Madam," I said, "if aught of harm comes to these two men, through Lord Dunmore, betwixt this hour and the same hour to-morrow, there is not a hole on earth into which he can creep for mercy. Tell this to my Lord Dunmore, and bid him stay away. I speak in no heat, madam; I mean what I say. For as surely as I stand here now, that hour in which Lord Dunmore and Sir Timerson start to hunt us down, they die. Pray you, madam, so inform those gentlemen."
Then I turned to Silver Heels, who impulsively stretched out both hands. The next moment I rejoined Mount and Renard, and we passed rapidly through the grove and down the hill to the stockade, where Mount drove out a plank with his huge shoulder, and we were free of Roanoke Plain.
At ten o'clock that night I sat in the coffee-room of the "Virginia Arms," outwardly cool enough, I trust, but terribly excited nevertheless, and scarce able to touch the food on my plate.
Heretofore, although I have always dreaded physical pain, I may truthfully say that the prospect of it had never deterred me from facing necessary danger; and I can also maintain that, until the present moment, the possibility of disaster to me or mine had never terrified me beforehand.
Now it was different; I seemed to be utterly unable to contemplate with philosophy the chance of misfortune to Silver Heels, through failure of my plans or accident to my proper person. It was, I think, responsibility and not cowardice that frightened me; for who was there to take care of Silver Heels if anything happened to me?
One by one I counted and discounted the dangers I ran: first, arrest at any moment as an accomplice of the notorious Jack Mount; second, assassination by Dunmore's agents; third, assassination by Butler's company; fourth, arrest and imprisonment as a suspected rebel and open advocate of sedition; fifth, danger from the Cayugas after our escape from Fort Pitt.
Should any of these things befall me, as well they might, what in the world would become of Silver Heels? Small wonder I found no heart to eat, though this totally new condition of mind parched me with a thirst so persistent that my host, James Rolfe, was obliged to caution me and bring me to my senses ere I had dulled them hopelessly in his brown home-brew.
The post-chaise, loaded and ready for a three weeks' journey, stood in the mews with the four strong horses harnessed,and Jack Mount at their heads. He and the Weasel were to ride as post-boys, with Shemuel and I in front.
It lacked an hour yet of the time appointed, and it was the suspense of that hour's waiting which set every nerve in my body aching. If we could only have gone somewhere else to wait!—but where could we go and find safety from warrants in this little town where every patriot inn was known? Certainly it was better for us to endure the strain here among sympathizers, where we could count on our host and on his guests and on every servant from stable to kitchen.
The arms and ammunition which the Weasel had purchased were now properly stowed in the post-chaise. Rifles and pistols had been primed and loaded, powder-horns replenished, flint and ball fitted, and pans oiled.
Again and again I went out into the mews, leaving my food untasted, only to find Mount standing quietly at the horses' heads and the Weasel pacing up and down, plunged in reverie.
At last Shemuel appeared, slinking past the lighted inn windows and into the mews, where we waited in the starlight, rubbing his hands and peering about with alert obsequiousness and an apparent inability to appreciate the tension that I, for one, quivered under.
"I haff sold all my goots," he remarked, cheerfully; "my packets I haff stored mit my friends at dose 'Bear and Cubs.' I puy me Delaware paskets in Baltimore—eh, Jack?"
"Here are your pistols," I said; "do you know how to use them?"
"Ach yess," he replied, with a sly smile at Mount, who grunted, and said:
"Shemmy is just as handy with pistols as he is with his needles. No fear, Mr. Cardigan," and looking around, he motioned the peddler to his side.
"I hear that the Monongahela is in flood," he said. "Is the wooden bridge all right, Shemmy?"
Shemuel did not know and went away to inquire, returning presently from the stables with the information that heavy storms had swept the southern mountains and the Monongahela was over its banks, but the dam below the bridge had gone out, leaving the wooden structure safe.
"Then there won't be a ford for twenty miles," muttered Mount, "and I'm glad of it. Shemmy, just borrow four new axes of Rolfe, will you? And, say, just shove them into the boot!"
Again Shemuel disappeared, and after a short absence came trotting back with the bundle of brand-new axes on his shoulder.
"Are they ground?" asked Mount.
"You can shave mit them," said Shemuel, running his dirty thumb along the edges. Then he shoved them into the boot and looked cunningly up at me.
The slow minutes dragged on. Hands clasped behind me, I walked up and down the muddy alley, twisting my interlocked fingers until every nail throbbed. Mount smoked a cob-pipe and watched me; Renard stood apart, staring up at the stars, immersed in thought; Shemuel pattered silently among the restive horses, thumbing the harness and poking his prying fingers into axle and unlighted coach-lamp.
Up and down I walked, heart beating heavily, watching the mouth of the alley for a lurking spy, or a file of soldiers, or Heaven knows what phantoms, which fancy conjured in my excited brain. But I saw nothing to alarm us, and was about to recommence an examination of the new rifle which Renard had bought me, when we were all startled by a rattle of hoofs filling the square with quick echoes.
Instantly every man there reached for his rifle; the alley itself suddenly resounded with the clattering hoof-strokes of a hard-ridden horse. There was a rush, a shadow, and a breathless shout from the horseman: "Express—ho! Stand back! I pass! I pass!"
"It's an express," muttered Mount, lowering his long rifle to lean on it and watch the dark rider pull his frantic horse to its haunches and fling the bridle on the snorting creature's neck, while he turned in his stirrups and searched his wallet by the glow of the opening kitchen door.
Rolfe, in his shirt-sleeves and apron, came out of the door, holding his hands up for the packets.
"Three for you, Jimmy," said the bareheaded express-rider, passing the letters over. "Draw me a pot o' beer, for Heaven's sake."
"Where is your mate?" asked Rolfe, anxiously.
"Hiram? Full of war-arrows t'other side o' Crown Gap. Here's his pouch."
"Scalped?" asked Rolfe, in a low voice.
"I reckon he is. He never knowed nothing after the third arrow. Them Wyandottes done it."
A tap-boy hurried out with the brimming pewter, and the shadowy rider emptied it at a gulp.
"'Nother, Jim," he said, stolidly.
"There's blood onto your jaw," said Rolfe, gloomily.
"Ay, they drew blood. I lost my hat"—here he swore fiercely—"and it ain't even paid for, Jim!"
"You orter be glad you got through, Ben Prince," said Rolfe, grimly.
"I am—drat that boy! where's my beer? Oh, there you are, are you? Gimme the pot and quit gaping. Hain't you never seed a express before?"
An admiring circle of hostlers and kitchen wenches laughed hysterically. The post-rider swaggered in his saddle and stretched out his feet contentedly.
"Life ain't all skittles," he observed; "but beer is beer the round world round!" and he drained the pot and tossed it dripping to an honoured scullion.
"News o' Boston?" asked Rolfe, meaningly.
"Plenty! Plenty! Port Bill in force; Tommy Gage on top; Sam Adams lying low; more redcoats landed, more on the way, more to come; rich poorer; poor starving; that's all!"
He gathered his bridle and winked at a coy kitchen-maid.
"Your beau has went to Johnstown, Sairy," he said; "I seen him a-training hay-foot, straw-foot, with old Sir Billy's Tryon County milish. That reminds me, Jim"—turning to Rolfe—"I've a packet for a certain Michael Cardigan, somewhere to be hunted up south o' Crown Gap—"
"Right here!" said Rolfe, promptly, and the express passed the letter to him. Then, with a careless, "See you later!" he wheeled his horse short and galloped back along the alley, which rang with shouts of "Good luck! Good luck! There's bed and bait for you here, Benny!"