FOOTNOTE:[1]Freehold.
[1]Freehold.
[1]Freehold.
BENZEOR'S VISITOR
"Holdon there! Hold on, I say! Stop, or we'll shoot!"
The words were shouted by some one in the whaleboat, and Benzeor evidently was about to heed the sharp command. He quickly changed the course of the boat, and as the shortened sail flapped in the wind as the little craft came about, the whaleboat came alongside and some one reached forth with a boat-hook, and the progress was instantly stayed.
Tom's heart was beating rapidly in his excitement. A wild impulse to leap into the river seized him, but before he could leave his position in the bow, two of the other crew clambered on board, and he knew that an attempt to escape would now be useless. Doubtless the men were armed, and the darkness was not deep enough to conceal him from their sight. His only hope now depended upon the actions of the men and thecourse which Benzeor should decide to follow.
The sail was instantly lowered in obedience to the sharp command of the men who had boarded the boat, and, in great fear, the lad waited for the purpose of their captors to be declared. He drew back in his position in the bow, hoping to escape the notice of all on board, as he saw that Benzeor had arisen from his seat and stood facing the men.
"Who are you? What ye out in a night like this for? Whose boat is this?" exclaimed the one who appeared to be the leader.
"Is that you, Fenton?" replied Benzeor in a low voice.
"Ho, it's Benzeor Osburn!" exclaimed the man, peering intently into the face before him as he spoke. "I thought it was strange we didn't find you in your house. We waited an hour as we agreed to, but when you didn't put in an appearance, we thought we'd start back. Where ye been, Benzeor? What's up now?"
"I'd been back home in time if it hadn't been for the storm and an alarm we had back in the bay. I think ye'd better go back with me now, Fenton. I've got some factsthat may interest you, and we can't talk them over here."
"Who are these men with you?" inquired Fenton suspiciously.
"Oh, they're all right. I'll vouch for them, every one," replied Benzeor. "You haven't anything to fear from any of my friends. Come up to my house and I'll tell ye all about it."
Fenton hesitated a moment before he replied, and Tom peered intently at the man of whom he had already heard so many tales. He could see his great form, although he could not distinguish the features of his face in the darkness. His deep voice and gruff manner had not tended to allay the lad's fears, and now Benzeor's words and actions filled his heart with a new alarm. Was Benzeor about to cast in his lot with Fenton? His words betrayed the fact of their previous acquaintance, and all the recent suspicious actions of his foster father came back to him. No one in the party had yet spoken, except Benzeor and Fenton, but the recent conversation on board the boat, much of which Tom had overheard, convinced the troubled lad that no very strong protest would be made against any proposal that Benzeor might feel disposed to make.
"I'm rather of the opinion," said Fenton roughly, "that it's about time you went home with me. I don't know who these fellows on board here are, and I don't care. You're the one I'm after, Benzeor, and it seems to me the time's come for you to join us or quit. You've been shilly-shallying long enough."
"Hush! Don't speak so loud!" replied Benzeor anxiously.
Fenton laughed outright at Benzeor's evident alarm, and, turning to his companions in the whaleboat, said, "I think we'd better take the boat along with us. We can land this crew anywhere along the shore, or we can sink 'em in the river, just which you please. It's too much of a storm for us to be hanging around here on the Navesink."
"Fenton," said Benzeor, rising and stepping up to the side of the outlaw, "you'd better do as I say. I've got something to tell ye, and it's worth hearing, too."
A low conversation followed between the two men which Tom, with all his efforts, was not able to hear. The result of it, however, quickly became apparent when Fenton turned to his companions and said, "It's all right, boys. You go on without me, and I'll joinyou to-morrow. I'm going up to Benzeor's now."
The boat-hook was quickly withdrawn at his command, and the sound of the oars of the departing boat soon ceased to be heard.
The sail of Benzeor's boat was then hoisted again, and once more the little party, increased now by the addition of Fenton, began to make their way up the Navesink. Though the rain was steadily falling, the wind was favoring, and the boat, handled by the skillful Benzeor, held steadily to its way. The low shores could be seen in the distance on either side, and an occasional light betrayed the location of some lonely farmhouse, whose occupants in the confidence begotten of the storm had ventured to sit up till a later hour than was customary in those days.
Not a word was spoken on board the boat, and Fenton had taken a position near Tom from which he did not move. All were drenched, but a summer rain was something which none of them minded in such a time as that.
When an hour had passed, Benzeor ran his boat closer inshore and in a few moments landed. Then turning to his companions he said, "Come over to my house to-morrow,Jacob, and I'll give you and Barzilla your shares of the money."
"We'll go with you now," replied Jacob, evidently not desiring to put off the day of reckoning too long, a desire in which Barzilla also shared.
"No, I can't fix it up to-night. You can take the bag, though, if you want to, and bring me my share to-morrow."
Benzeor's confidence in his fellows served the desired purpose, and Jacob and Barzilla speedily departed, taking with them the little bag of gold which had been received as the price of the produce they had taken to New York.
"Tom, you look out for the boat," called Benzeor, as he and Fenton started towards the little house whose outlines could be discerned in the distance.
Tom obeyed, and as he worked over the little boat, looking well to all the details, his thoughts were far more busy than his hands. The changes which he had noted in Benzeor of late seemed almost to have reached their climax. Was the man intending now to go with Fenton? All his recent absences from home came up before the lad's mind, and the strange visitors he had received there of latewere not forgotten. What was it Benzeor was planning to do? He was not much like the man he had been a few years before this time, and as Tom thought over all the changes, he was troubled more and more.
He knew that Sarah had not been unaware of what was going on, for many a time had they talked it all over together. Sarah had remained a steadfast champion of her father, but Tom had not failed to see that she was none the less troubled by his strange actions. His grasping disposition had become more and more apparent of late, and while he had never in the presence of his family referred to anything he had in his mind to do against the patriots, his very silence in such times was more threatening than any words he could utter. But Sarah had steadily refused to believe that her father would desert the cause for which at the outbreak of the war he had professed the most ardent attachment; still, it was impossible for her not to discover, what Tom for a long time had seen, that he was strangely silent of late.
The change in Benzeor Osburn had been so gradual as to deceive many of his friends and neighbors. All had known his "closeness," as the country people termed his loveof money, but few of them had thought it would ever lead him into the position in which the man at that time really stood.
Benzeor in '76 had been among the loudest in his expressions of loyalty to the cause of the colonies, and had been foremost in blaming his own brother for his "toryism." His brother's property had been confiscated, but Benzeor's had been left unmolested, so confident had all the whigs been in the sincerity of his expressions. And at the time Benzeor had meant what he said, and said what he meant. But never for a moment had he dreamed that the struggle would be such a long-continued one as it had proved to be, nor had he thought that patriotism would affect his own possessions. All that would be done would be to make a strong protest against the unjust taxation, for Benzeor had hated taxes as he did few things in this world, and then a compromise would be effected, which would permit the colonists to go on with their occupations, and the mother country would soon see that it was not to her own advantage to drive her rebellious children too far.
The first shock had come to him when the Continental Congress had declared the countryto be a free and independent nation. That was going too far, Benzeor thought, and so he freely expressed himself; but still hoping that a compromise of some kind would be made, and that his own possessions would not be disturbed, he had uttered no further protests, though his voice ceased to be heard in favor of the rebellion.
As further events betrayed the weakness of the patriot cause, and he had found that patriotism was likely to prove a somewhat expensive virtue, his feelings had undergone a still more decided change. At first he had entered into one or two secret projects by which he had succeeded in enriching his own pockets, and the success had so affected him that as his patriotism decreased his hopes of gains correspondingly increased; and soon from deeds for which he tried to justify himself, he had been gradually drawn into others which even his own seared conscience proclaimed to be wrong. In some of the latter he had come into contact with the outlaws of Fenton's class, and his association with them had soon banished the feeling of disgust he had formerly cherished for them, until it had even come to pass that Fenton himself was a not unwelcome guest in his own home.
At first the visits had been made secretly, and the promises of rich harvests to be reaped, as the result of their evil deeds, had appealed to Benzeor more strongly than even he himself was aware. The lawless times, the constant turmoils, the bitterness between those who had recently been the warmest of friends, the ease with which raids were made, and the apparent impossibility of detection, had all combined to arouse the avaricious Benzeor more and more; and now not very much was needed to draw him still farther within the toils of Fenton and his band.
Not all of these things were apparent to Tom when at last he left the boat and started towards the house, but he had seen sufficient to make him suspicious of Benzeor, and he was as perplexed as he was troubled. All his own feelings had gone out more and more to the patriot cause, and more than once had he been sadly tempted to depart from his home without waiting for the formality of buying up his time, and he had even gone so far as to suggest to Sarah several times what he had it in his mind to do. Sarah's grief, however, and the confidence which she still professed to feel in her father, as well as the dislike in his own heart to do anything whichbore any resemblance to stealing,—for so the troubled lad regarded the taking of time which did not really belong to him as the bound boy of Benzeor Osburn,—had hitherto held him back. How long such feelings would continue to sway him Tom could not decide when at last he lifted the latch and entered the kitchen.
Benzeor and his guest were seated before the fire which had been started in the wide and open fireplace, and were drying their wet clothing as they conversed eagerly together.
As Tom came in, Benzeor glanced up hastily and said, "You can go to bed, Tom. You must be wet and tired, and there is a lot of work to be done to-morrow." Benzeor's voice was not unkind, but Tom did not fail to see that his presence was not desired. He quickly lighted a candle with a splinter which he thrust into the fire and held until it was in a flame, and then went up the low stairway to his room directly over the kitchen in which the men were seated.
As he entered the room he noted the gleam which came through the open space near the rude chimney, and, placing the candle on the low table, he advanced and peered down at the men. He could see both plainly,and, after observing them for a moment, he was about to turn away and take off his dripping clothing, when he suddenly stopped. He had overheard a word which caused his heart to beat much more rapidly, and in a moment he was upon his knees striving to hear what more would be said.
He remained in the same position for an hour, and at last arose only when Fenton opened the door and went out into the darkness. Then Benzeor closed and barred the door, and started directly up the stairway.
Instantly Tom blew out his candle and leaped into bed, all wet and muddy as he was, and drew the bedclothes close up around his face.
Benzeor came slowly on and then stopped before the door of Tom's room. The lad was trembling in his excitement, for he well knew that if the man should enter and discover that he had not removed his clothing before going to bed, his suspicions would at once be aroused. And above all things Benzeor's suspicion at that time was what Tom most desired to lull.
There were wild thoughts in Tom's mind of leaping from the bed and, rushing past the man, making a break for the outside. Perhapsthe man might not enter, however, and, trembling with fear and excitement, Tom waited.
It seemed to him that a long time had elapsed, and still no sound outside the door could be heard. Had Benzeor gone on? The light of his candle which still shone through the cracks disproved that. What could he then be doing?
Tom tried to conjecture what must be going on on the stairway, but the silence was still unbroken. The minutes were like hours to the frightened lad. It seemed to him as if the beatings of his heart must be heard throughout the house.
His suspense was soon ended—when Benzeor lifted the latch and Tom felt the light of the candle streaming in full upon his face.
THE MESSENGER
Fora moment Tom closed his eyes and waited for the words which he expected and feared to hear. His body was trembling and all his strength was required to prevent his teeth from chattering. If Benzeor should enter the room Tom knew that at once his predicament would be discovered, and in the present state of his foster father's feelings he was aware that he could expect no mercy at his hands.
He heard no footstep, but he felt that the light of the candle was still shining upon his face and knew that Benzeor had not departed. At last, unable to bear the suspense longer, he opened his eyes, for he felt that he must see what was going on in the room. There stood Benzeor in the doorway holding the candle with one hand, and intently regarding the apparently sleeping boy before him.
"I'll be down directly," said Tom drowsily, as if he were just awaking. "I didn't knowit was time to get up. I'll be with you in a minute."
"It isn't time to get up," replied Benzeor slowly. "I'm just going to bed. I stopped to see if you were all right. Have you been asleep long?"
"I—I don't know. Is there anything wrong?" Tom still kept the bedclothes drawn tightly about his face, and although he was feigning that he had been sleeping, he was in a state of terror. If Benzeor should approach the bed he well knew what would follow.
"No, there's nothing wrong," replied Benzeor. "I just wanted to see if you were all right. It's been a hard trip, and there's much work to be done to-morrow."
Tom closed his eyes and did not continue the conversation, hoping that the man would feel satisfied and leave him to himself. Nor was he disappointed, for Benzeor soon withdrew and closed the door behind him.
Tom could hear him as he stumbled about in the adjoining room, preparing for bed. Frightened as the lad had been, he had not failed to notice the expression upon Benzeor's face. It seemed to him that fear and recklessness were combined there, and that in the recent decision which the man had made, hehad bidden farewell to everything good in his nature.
Benzeor had not been without his good qualities. Even then, in spite of his alarm, Tom recalled his rough kindnesses, and thought how much better in many ways his foster father had treated him than had some of the true fathers treated their own sons, for the times were rough and the one thing which was demanded of all the growing boys was implicit obedience to their elders. And this obedience had been ofttimes compelled by no gentle means. The use of the strap upon boys who were as large as their fathers was not unknown, and no one ever thought of resenting the harsh treatment. But Benzeor had seldom struck him. Tom almost wished that he had, for it would make the carrying out of the project he had already formed much easier.
Then, too, all the kindness he had received at the hands of Benzeor's wife and of the girls came back to him. It was true that this had been largely of a negative character, but in times like these through which the troubled lad was then passing, even that was not forgotten. He had toiled early and late, and knew that he had given more thana full equivalent for the scanty food and rough clothing he had received. But after all, Benzeor's home had been all the home he had ever known, and he was not unmindful of the benefits he had received.
His soul now, however, was in a state of turmoil. The words he had overheard had proved conclusively that Benzeor was a changed man, and as Tom thought of the project which Fenton had presented, and into which his foster father had entered with apparent eagerness, his own indignation increased. The long waiting was past now, and the time for action, the time of which he had dreamed and thought so much of late, had come at last.
He removed the bed-clothing and sat up on the side of the bed, listening intently. Benzeor had ceased to move about in his room, and the sounds which now came indicated clearly that he was asleep. Against the little window the rain was still beating, and the darkness was so intense in the room that Tom could not distinguish any object.
For several minutes he continued in his position, undecided whether he had better make the attempt to depart from the house by the way of the stairs, or through the windowin his room. If he should select the former, the stairs would be sure to creak under his feet; and then, too, there would be the bars which must be drawn from the door. There were too many possibilities of detection to make that method of departure the desirable one.
If he should go through the window, all he would have to do would be to drop upon the woodpile directly beneath,—a pile which Tom knew was there, for he himself had drawn and cut the wood only a few days before this time. He decided to use the window.
Stepping slowly and carefully, he approached and quietly raised the sash. As he looked out into the night, the farm buildings could be seen, and yonder was the road he was to seek.
Hesitating no longer, the resolute boy crawled through the open window, and then, clinging for a moment to the sash with his hands, dropped upon the woodpile below. There was a noise as the wood rolled from under him, but, quickly rising, he ran to the long lane which led out to the road, and then stopped to learn whether his departure had been discovered or not.
The silence was unbroken. The outlinesof the rude little house stood out in the darkness, the rain was falling steadily, and the heavy clouds hung low over the earth. Not even the dog had been disturbed, and with a lighter heart Tom turned and ran down the lane and was soon in the road.
The mud was now thick and heavy, and he found his progress difficult. But as he had not far to go, he ran steadily on, and soon came within sight of Little Peter's house. There was no light to be seen within it, and he was not at all certain that his friend had returned.
He approached and stood beneath the window of the boy's room, which, like his own, was over the kitchen. Then he gave the low whistle which they both had used as a "call." At first there was no response, and when he had given it two or three times he concluded that his friend had not returned from his work as the lookout in the tree by the mouth of the Navesink. Nothing then remained to be done but to rouse the family, for Tom was determined, and was well aware that what he planned to do must be done quickly.
Approaching the kitchen door he rapped loudly upon it. Twice had he repeated the summons before a window was raised, andsome one looking out upon him called, "Who's there? Is that you, Peter?"
"No, it's not Peter. It's Tom Coward, and I want to get in. I've got something to tell you."
"I'll be down in a moment," said Peter's mother, for Tom had recognized the voice as her's.
Tom soon heard the heavy bars withdrawn, and in a brief time the door was opened, and then closed and carefully barred behind him.
"What's wrong, Tom?" inquired the woman anxiously. "Has anything happened to Peter?"
"I don't think so," replied Tom. "He was all right when I left him a few hours ago down by the Hook. But what I want to know now is whether you've had any word from his father?"
"Not a word, except that it's reported the army's on the march again. Why do you ask?"
"I don't know that I ought to tell you," replied Tom hesitatingly, "but the truth of the matter is that I happened to hear that he was coming home."
"You've heard something more than that,Tom Coward," said the woman now thoroughly alarmed. "I know you've heard more, or you wouldn't have come over here at this time of night and in such a storm. What is it? What is it?"
Tom perceived that he had gone too far to retreat now, and so he began his story. He did not go into all the details, for as yet he did not desire to implicate Benzeor, at least in the eyes of all his neighbors.
"The way of it is this," began Tom hesitatingly. "I happened to be to-night where I overheard the talk between two men, and one of 'em was Fenton, the pine robber."
Tom could perceive the expression of alarm which swept over the face of the woman, who was still standing before him. Apparently ignoring it, however, he went on. "It seems that both of the armies are on the march across Jersey, and that Washington has halted over by Hopewell. Somehow, Fenton had got word that your husband was coming home for a day, and he's fixed up a plan to trap and take him."
"I haven't heard a word," said the woman slowly. "When was he coming?"
"To-morrow."
"And Fenton knows of it?"
"Yes. And he knows something more, too, or at least he pretends to. I heard him say that you had some money hidden in an old sock, which you'd stored away in the garret."
Tom saw the woman start at his words, and knew then that Fenton's statement had been correct, although he could not conjecture how the pine robber had received his information. Little Peter's mother was a resolute woman, but even the stoutest heart might well be alarmed to hear that Fenton was aware of such possessions.
"Have you any idea when Little Peter will come home?"
"No. It's too bad to keep him out in such a night. And we need him here now."
"I'll wait till he comes," said Tom quietly. "There's no danger to-night, but I want to see him, and I don't think you'll object to my staying, will you?"
"No," said the woman eagerly. "Oh, what times these are! My husband has been in the army more than a year, and the end hasn't come yet. What will become of us? What shall we do? Tom," she added suddenly, "what was Fenton going to do with him if he caught him?"
"Take him and send him to New York. You know there's a reward for every prisoner taken. But he hasn't got him yet."
"No, that's so; and what's more he won't either, if it can be prevented. Have you told Benzeor about it? Hark! There's some one at the door now!"
The woman was not mistaken, for a low tapping on the kitchen door could be distinctly heard. For a moment neither spoke, but they could not conceal their fears from each other. Just then a stronger gust of wind drove the rain with added force against the windows. The sound of the storm seemed to increase the fear of those within the house. Perhaps Fenton himself had even then come; or, as was more probable, Tom thought, his own departure had been discovered, and Benzeor had come for him. As between the two, Tom decidedly preferred to meet Fenton at that time.
Again the low rapping was heard, and Tom knew that some response must be made. "I'll open the door. Maybe it's Little Peter come back," he whispered.
"No, it isn't Peter. He wouldn't come in that way."
"I'll find out who it is," replied Tommore resolutely, although his heart was oppressed by a great fear. His hands were trembling, and he almost expected that the moment he drew back the bars a rush against the door would be made.
"You stand ready to push against the door," he said as he grasped the bar. Slowly he drew it back, and standing away from the slight opening called out, "Who's there?"
No reply was heard, and the wind which swept through the open space quickly extinguished the candle, leaving them both in total darkness. For a moment Tom thought they were being attacked, and he instantly slammed the door back, and shot the bar into its place.
The rapping upon the door was quickly repeated, and the voice of some one outside could be heard. "Don't light the candle again," whispered Tom. "It'll let them see what's inside here. Who's out there?" he called in louder tones. "Who's there? You'll have to tell who you are, or we shan't let you in. Who is it?"
Another rap was the only reply, and Tom was almost decided not to heed the summons longer, but to leave the callers, whoever they might be, out there in the storm.
"I'll go upstairs and look out of the window," whispered Peter's mother; and, creeping softly out of the room, she soon made her way up the stairway to the room overhead from which she had replied to Tom's own summons a few minutes before.
Tom waited and listened. The rapping was not repeated, and no sound could be heard outside the door. What could it all mean? Had the marauders gone around to some of the windows? These were barred by heavy inside shutters, and no light could be seen to reveal the presence of any one. The darkness in the room was intense, and Tom almost thought he could feel it. He was breathing hard in his excitement, but he had not left his position by the door.
Soon he heard the sound of the woman returning down the stairway. He waited breathlessly, and she soon rejoined him.
"I can't see but one man," she whispered. "He's right there in front of the door."
"Is it Benzeor?"
"I couldn't see. You'd better open the door and let him in. We can handle one."
Tom did not feel so positive about that, but bidding her light the candle, he againdrew back the bar. "Come in! Come in! Quick!" he called.
Some one pushed past him, and the door was instantly closed and barred again.
The candle was not yet lighted, and in the darkness he felt as if some one were about to grasp him. He could almost feel hands upon him now. He stepped farther back from the door, and waited in breathless suspense for the candle to be lighted.
After several attempts, the woman succeeded in igniting a splinter from the embers in the ashes on the fireplace, and the beams of the lighted candle quickly dispelled the darkness.
"It's Indian John!" said Tom with a great sigh of relief as he saw the man before him.
The visitor was a strange appearing being, clad in the leggings and moccasins of his race, while over his shoulders he wore a faded coat which once had done duty for some Continental soldier. His dark eyes burned as if they had caught a reflection from the sputtering candle, but with a countenance unmoved he gazed quietly at his companions in the room.
"Oh, John, what a fright you gave us!"said the woman at last. "What brings you here on a night like this?"
The Indian made no reply, save to draw a letter from the pocket of the dripping, faded coat, and quietly held it forth to the woman.
IN THE TEN-ACRE LOT
LittlePeter's mother instantly grasped the letter, and seating herself by the table, and drawing the candle nearer, at once began to read. Tom watched her eagerly, but she did not speak, and the expression upon her face did not betray any of the emotions in her heart.
The Indian still stood motionless in the position he had taken when he first entered the room, and except for the occasional turning of his dark eyes from the boy to the woman, so far as appearances went he might have been a statue. The rain still dashed against the windows, and the sounds of the wind outside showed that the storm was unabated. The flickering candle served to intensify the darkness, and the alarm which Tom had felt had not entirely departed.
The woman read the letter all through carefully, and then, without a word of explanation, began to read it again. Tom hardlyknew what to do. He had given her his warning, and whether she would care for his further services he could not determine. He did not feel like interrupting her, and yet he feared that his presence now might not be altogether welcome, for he had no means of knowing what the message was, or who had sent it.
His uncertainty was quickly dispelled, however, as the woman laid the letter upon the table, and turning to him said, "You were right, Tom. Peter is coming home; but how you found it out, I cannot even guess."
Tom did not feel at liberty to enlighten her upon the subject beyond what he had told her already, for he was sadly troubled about Benzeor and his relations with Fenton. Doubtless Benzeor was implicated, but matters had not yet gone so far that he felt he was at liberty to betray his foster father to the neighbors.
"Yes," resumed the woman, "Peter is coming home, but only for a day or two."
"Where is he? What does he say of the army?" inquired Tom.
"Washington is at Hopewell, as you said, Tom. When he found out that Clinton really intended to march across Jersey, hedetached General Maxwell's brigade and some of the militia to obstruct and bother the British, and Peter was in the militia, you know. They were to keep close to the redcoats, and by their skirmishes keep them from going too fast, and so give Washington a chance to pass them, and then, when the place he wanted was found, turn about and fight. When the army crossed the Delaware at Coryell's Ferry, Washington sent Colonel Morgan with six hundred of the riflemen to reinforce Maxwell, and with the rest of his men he set out to march toward Princeton."
"I thought you said he was at Hopewell now," said Tom.
"So he is, Peter writes, but Hopewell isn't but a few miles from Princeton, you know, and he decided to stop there and give his army a good rest. Peter writes that all the men now think that Clinton is marching so slowly on purpose, and that his plan is to let the Americans go on into the lower country and then gain the right of our army by a quick march and get possession of the higher ground on the right of our men. Peter writes that that is what all the Continentals think Clinton is trying to do, and so General Washington has halted at Hopewell. That'sonly five miles from Princeton, you see, and he is going to stay there a few days so that he can give his men a good rest before any engagement takes place; and he can find out what Clinton's plans are, too."
"And while the army is waiting there, Big Peter thinks he'll run up home for a day, does he?" said Tom.
"Yes, that's just it. He's sent me word of his coming by Indian John, here. But you must have been delayed John," she said, turning to the Indian as she spoke.
"Heap wet," said the Indian quietly.
"When does he say he expects to be here?" inquired Tom.
"To-morrow; no, to-day, for it must be long past midnight now. I shouldn't be surprised to see him any time."
"Well I've given you my message, and you'll know what to do now. I think perhaps I'd better be going back home, that is, unless there's something you think I can do to help you."
"No, there's nothing more now, Tom. Little Peter will soon be here, and with him and Indian John in the house, I don't think we shall have much to fear. It was good of you to come, Tom. I shall never forget you,and I know that Peter will not, either. I am sadly troubled, but I think it will be all right."
"Good-night, then," said Tom.
"Good-night, and thank you again for all your trouble and kindness."
Tom drew back the bar, and, opening the door, passed out into the night, little dreaming that he had looked upon the face of Little Peter's mother for the last time.
As he ran along the lonesome road, he could see that the clouds were breaking, and in low masses were swept by the wind across the sky. The rain had almost ceased now, but the air was damp and heavy and strangely oppressive. Perhaps it was the oppressiveness which affected Tom more than the excitement through which he had just passed, for the lad was much depressed as he came nearer to Benzeor's house. All the conversation he had overheard between the men came back to him, and he almost wished that he had not left Peter's mother alone with Indian John and the children. His feeling of obligation to Benzeor had mostly departed now, and as he recalled the plots of his foster father his heart was hot within him. He even thought of going over to the CourtHouse and reporting the matter to Sheriff Forman that very night; but the hope that Benzeor still might not join Fenton in the evil project they had formed deterred him, and as he just then obtained a glimpse of the house which for more than ten years had been the only home he had ever known, his mind was recalled to his own immediate plans. At least he had given Peter's mother the warning, and if Fenton's band should make the proposed visit, in any event she would be prepared to receive them.
At first Tom thought he would not return to his room, but would pass the night in the barn; still the fear that Benzeor might discover his absence, and be led to suspect its cause, quickly presented itself, and the troubled lad decided to go back to his accustomed place.
Carefully he climbed up on the woodpile, and grasping the sill drew himself up and passed through the open window. He stood for a moment in the room and listened intently. Not a sound could be heard, and even the long drawn-out snores with which Benzeor had been wont to proclaim to the household the fact that he had entered the land of dreams were silent now. He waitedseveral moments, and as the silence was still unbroken he proceeded carefully to remove his wet clothing, and climbed into his high bed.
For the first time then he realized how thoroughly tired he was. The bed had never been more grateful to him, and a heavy sigh of relief escaped his lips. He heard the crowing of the cocks and knew that the morning could not be far away now.
Not even the exciting events of the day, or the treacherous project of Benzeor, or his anxiety for the safety of Little Peter's father, now availed to keep the wearied lad awake.
How long he slept he did not know, but it was broad daylight when he opened his eyes. Some one was pounding upon his door, and with a confused thought that Fenton was besieging the house, or that Washington had begun an attack upon Clinton's forces, he quickly sat up in the bed and listened.
The summons was repeated, and Tom at once realized where he was and what was expected of him. There was no mistaking Benzeor's rude method of proclaiming the presence of the morning, and if he had had any doubts, they would have been quickly dispelled by the words which followed.
"Come, Tom, get up! It's high time we were at work again!"
"I'll be down in a minute," replied Tom as he leaped out of bed and hastily dressed.
While he was engaged in that occupation he tried desperately to collect his thoughts and think of some way out of the troubles which he feared were sure to come that day. Should he tell Benzeor plainly that he could no longer remain under his roof? Ought he to tell him what he had overheard the night before? Had the time come for him to declare himself and to take the open stand which he had for a long time secretly planned to do? Thoughts of Sarah and the toiling, careworn little mother of the household presented themselves before his troubled mind, and the longer he thought, the more perplexed he became.
The problem was not solved when he passed down the stairs and went out of the house to the barrel which stood beneath the corner of the eaves. He took the rude wooden bowl and filled it with water, and desperately tried to arrive at some conclusion as he bathed his flushed face.
The family were already seated at the breakfast-table, and the sounds of Benzeor'sgruff voice could be distinctly heard through the open windows. The hens with their broods were moving about the yard, and the dog came and rubbed against his leg as the lad dried his face and hands on the rough towel that was hanging near the water barrel. The storm had passed, and the summer sun was shining clear and strong now.
As he lifted his eyes and looked out over Benzeor's fertile lands, only a vision of peace and restfulness could be seen on every side. It was all so different from the storm which was in his own soul that Tom almost groaned aloud as he turned to enter the kitchen and take his accustomed place at the table.
As he entered the room, Benzeor said, "You're late this morning, lad, but I thought I would let you sleep, you had such a hard day of it yesterday. But there's no trip to New York this morning, and not likely to be one again soon."
Benzeor's manner was not unkind, and as Tom glanced at him he wondered whether the man was in any wise suspicious of him or not. Apparently he was not, but without making any reply Tom seated himself and quietly decided to wait until they were alone before he spoke of what was in his mind.
"Tom," said Benzeor after a brief silence, "I want you to go over to the ten-acre lot to-day. The ground's wet, but the corn there needs hoeing, and we can't wait."
The "ten-acre lot" was on the border of Benzeor's possessions, and was nearly a mile distant from the house. On all sides it was bordered by woods, and was as lonely a place as could be found in all the region.
"Are you going, too?" inquired Tom, with an apparent indifference he was far from feeling.
"No. I've got to go in another direction to-day. I may not be back at night either, though I can't say as to that. You'd better take your dinner, too, Tom, and I'll leave one of the muskets for you. You can load it up with bird-shot and keep the blackbirds and crows away. They're raising the mischief this year, and corn's going to be worth money this fall, if I'm not greatly mistaken."
Tom made no reply, although his heart was beating a little more rapidly than usual. Benzeor's absence from home promised little good, and the words which he had overheard the night before came back now with redoubled force. Where was Benzeor going? And why did he send him to work in the distantfield, when he was positive that some of the corn nearer the house was in far greater need of hoeing than that in the ten-acre lot?
However, he did not voice his questions, and immediately after the breakfast was over Benzeor mounted his horse and departed up the road, going in the opposite direction to that which led to Little Peter's house.
Tom went up into the unfinished room in which Benzeor kept his guns and ammunition, but instead of taking the musket to which the man had referred, he selected a rifle, and loaded it with a ball instead of the bird-shot as Benzeor had directed. Just why he did this Tom could not have explained even to himself, but somehow there was the feeling in his heart that he might need to be prepared to deal with larger game that day than the thieving blackbirds or the noisy crows.
"I've got your dinner all ready, Tom," said Sarah, as the boy came back with his gun into the kitchen. "Why, you've got the rifle!" she added in surprise, as she noted the weapon he had in his hands. "There's nothing wrong, is there?" she said anxiously.
"I hope not. I don't know. I thoughtI'd take this gun," replied Tom in some confusion.
Sarah said nothing more, but Tom knew from her manner that she was alarmed. He would have been glad to quiet her fears, but the anxiety in his own heart rendered him somewhat embarrassed, and without saying anything more he shouldered his gun, and picking up the little pail, or "blicky," as the country people termed it, having adopted the Dutch word whether they themselves were Dutch or not, he set forth on his walk to the distant ten-acre lot.
He stopped in the barn long enough to select a hoe, and then with the added implement resumed his journey across the fields. When he came to the borders of the woods through which he was to pass, he turned and looked back at the house.
Sarah was still standing in the doorway, and as she saw Tom stop she waved at him the sunbonnet which she was holding in one hand by the strings. Tom waved his "blicky" by way of a return, and then entered the woods, which shut out the view of all that lay behind him.
The birds were flitting about in the trees and filling the air with their songs. Thesquirrels darted along the branches, stopping only occasionally to chatter at the intruder. High over all he could see a fish-hawk and his mate circling in the air, and Tom knew that their nest was not far away, and doubtless they were watching him to see that he did no harm to their little ones, which by this time must be well grown.
As he came near to a marshy little pond which lay in the centre of an open place in the woods, he stopped for a moment when he heard the angry notes of a ground thrush near by. He soon saw that the bird was engaged in a fierce contest with a water snake which had crawled up the bank and doubtless had been endeavoring to make his breakfast upon the fledgelings in the nest he had discovered.
Tom watched the contest for a moment, and then advanced to the aid of the bird, which was beating the ground with her wings, and occasionally darting swiftly at her foe. His approach was instantly seen by the snake, which quickly abandoned the contest, and, squirming down the bank, slid into the stagnant water; but Tom could still see the head which was lifted above the water, and the glittering little eyes were intently watchinghis movements, although the rest of the long slimy body was concealed in the pond.
"That's just like Benzeor," said Tom aloud, as he dropped his pail, and picking up a stone threw it savagely at the head he could see a few yards out from the bank.
The head instantly disappeared, and Tom turned to watch the bird, which now was hopping about in the bushes, uttering harsh little notes of relief.
"You're all right now, old lady," said Tom. "Go back and tend to your babies. I only wish I could serve every crawling thing the way I served your enemy."
He soon arrived at the end of his journey, and, placing his gun within easy reach, began his task for the day. Why he had put off his conversation with Benzeor he could not explain. But the energy with which he began his work served to afford a measure of relief for his pent-up feelings, and when the noon hour at last came he had done far more work than a morning often witnessed.
Once he had stopped suddenly when he thought he heard the report of a gun in the distance. The sound had twice been repeated, but it seemed to be muffled and far away, and as he resumed his labor he tried to persuadehimself that it was only Little Peter firing at the blackbirds or the thieving crows.
The reports had made him anxious, however, and when he had stopped for dinner he had kept his gun near him all the time. The silence served to increase his feeling of loneliness. On every side stood the forests; and the great trees, which had never as yet felt the stroke of the axe, were companions without sympathy.
With a feeling of desperation Tom soon resumed his labors. The sun passed over his head and began to sink below the tops of the taller trees. He had stopped for a moment to wipe his dripping face and gain a brief rest, when he was startled by the sight of some one emerging from the forest.
He gazed for a moment intently at the new-comer, and soon recognized Sarah. What was the trouble? Her dress had been torn by the bushes, her hair had become loose and was streaming down her back. But her disheveled appearance was not the worst, for as Tom dropped his hoe and ran across the lot to meet her, he saw that her eyes were filled with an expression of terror, and her face betrayed the wild alarm which seemed to possess the swiftly running girl.