The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 10, 1902, Page 5

THE SUNDAY CALL. e ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————— et = areless step and undisturbed counte- 1o say: ar kit together, lad. We go on g worth while to-night.” ord, 1 took my sword from d got pistol and boots ready. n nt, and we went over roum, where sat Jack Acton, ready well. ake twenty men and ride south. Teady men, Rob?" asked Acton. one, whatever it may be.” ed them all. Nothing more s can hear and talk of it.” afier. the barracks, with his is pointed out to us ready mounted, . 1 was up on for 1 had the dear old nag ound. And we rode away he word and a greeting to we pa out of camp into the uncertain neutral coun- d had been passed along 1d 0 we rode hour by hour a by now I had ntry, and I saw a certain fated her once! Balfort,” said Cur- ; and we moved a ance of the troop. @ a, like to know: began we are here? Well, listen. There r at an atfempt has been Andre, who was to night dewn this side ad carried over to the other Tappan for trial. The m headquarters this 1s are changed. West Point without e 1o take the British 1t will come here to be and now o three parties eastward and the attempt to enter the Curtis,” sald I er that conceal anybody south to meet and Acton wili ed with poke to him ow ye why we're liftinint,” said he. “I d here I be. Indade, skin’ quistions.” ur mouth shut well?” and he jerked his lder towards the de- mber that, shotld the time w two men and go around he left. Leave two more near the road, and let with me to the right.” enter that house, search it, nay be inside, and lie low for look sharp, for 'tis like there than a dozen red-coats there g for us.” i he, saluting again, car or see aught, leave a man wide circuit till you meet me.” away, crawling on our ng a bright eye on the appeared to be dark and that contained ely for us, there had grown ug of underbrush on all sides, an g well within this I turned the orner, skirted the broad side of the e mansion d, nothing appearing moved siowly and laboriously on, ng the second corner. There at last was a light burning from &n open window in what appeared to be a room adjoining the kitchen, in an ell, or extension, of the house itself. Soon I was up to it, and, seeing it unoccupied, made bold to enter, sending one man to call the others with Callahan. Silence reigned throughout the house end nothing changed in the few moments thet passed till, silently, one by one, the five men and Callahan slid over the sill end stood waiting my instructions. Ordering him to give me warning of any pew arrival or danger by a low whistle, I left the dimly lighted room an found myself in & cross hall that led ain info the main hall of the house. eeping close to the wall, I worked slow- ly end as silently as possible around the hall, finding four great dark and silent rooms, in which the ghostly furniture stood piled in the center. No sign nor sound of living being appeared. Then, ooming to the great stairway, I drew my word and holding & pistol in the left d mounted cautiously to the second story. H?re n were more rooms, open, but wecant. Under the sill of & door leading into the wing was what seemed to be & faint light. e door opened, but in do- ing so it creaked wtilh a sound that seemed to echo all over the house. Di- rectly opposite, across another small hall, wes & door, helf opened, leading into a lighted room, and on the instant a voice #aid something in French. *Tig ever the fact that what is expected is like to be the greatest surprise, and to recognize that voice now, knowing it must come some time, gave me & sickening of that kept me silent. Adele?’ said the volcs agaln, . Mistress Philipse, but May I enter?” exclamation and & oor stood wide open. re, sir?” sald she, gaz- ing at me. ¥For answer I stepped into the room, r handle from her, closed the tle noise as possible and ou and what mean you by y house?” she asked 5 ing aw from me and gown together at the neck. was beautiful under all con- here she was gazing at me a queen whose hallowed privacy had tled with sacrilege. 1 know me well, Mistress Philipse,” neéd have no fears of ing of you, sir, nor do I bid you leave this room at once, unless you are a o rob a defenseless u will some day regret your hastil “I am hers to 1 ntary exclamation protect you from being This house is full of who are—" at that; “let them come and she rushed by me door to open it. But [ out, and put my h and lifted her from her down in a large The result was enough n. For she burst into ing up and stamping her e, she cried: med to maltreat a Are you mlxt 0 chair by the table any to distract ani and shamed! strike you weak woman I was on my knees at her feet in a mo- ment, and took her hand in mine in my excitement. “‘Dear child,” cried I, “God forgive me! Bome day you will understand and for- give me 100. I cannot do aught else. If ?'ou will but give me your ‘word! Be- leve me, believe me, I ‘would not touch & hair of your head, but tell me truth- fully is this house occupied by British soldlers? Nay, do not move away! I—1 must trust you. Listen! There is an at- tempt to take Andre—this house is tho rendezvous—tell me you know naught of it Oh, ’‘tis useless to try to escape. I have the house surrounded with my mwen; but tell me you know naught of it, that 1 may protect you from my own people! Do you not see? You will be arrested as a spy She was sobbing con- vulsively, and I could not stop her. I knew not what to do, and In the bewil- derment I found myself kissing the hand Ulml lay in mine, and begging her to stop. Still she sobbed on. wits’ ends. Suddenly a long, low whistle came to our ears from below. I jumped to her side and grasped her arm. ““Tell me, girl, do you know aught of British in this house?”’ d“No." sald she, looking at me In won- er. ““Then listen!" Again came the low whistle from the ball below. 1 gave the signal back. “That signal says that some one is ap- groa(‘hing this house. Now, if you do not elieve in me and do what I tell you, we shall none of us have long to live. I served you truly once. Trust me again!” and I ran to the light and blew it out. In the sudden darkness I found her and grasped ber hand. She let it lle in mine, while Loth listened for the next sound that ht come. Gradually the slight moon- ght gave us some light In the room, and I turned toward her. “Will you give me your word not to give any sign or make any noise?" She did not reply. I must go downstairs; 12’ Btill no sign. h I was near my will you give was needed below: and so, letting her hand fall, I moved quickly to the door. Some slight sound made me turn as I reached it, and I was in the nick of time to see her stealing swiftly toward the window. With a bound I reached her just as she raised the sash, and before could stop her she had cried out. Then the pity of it all came over me, for the frail littie creature began to struggle. “Mistress Philipse, I am here to do my duty! There be twenty-five men and three officers within call. You cannot possibly help the British! They are doomed now! But I cannot—God forgive me, 1 will not struggle with you! There is but one other alternative. Here is a pis- tol; you can easily see me. Shoot quick and straight; for I will not go down, or take you down to those men!” She took the revolver. “If you fire it without hit- ting me, I shall use this one on myself!” Slowly she raised the pistol—I could ses as plain as day, now—slowly she pointed it, first at my body, then at my throat, then my head. And it came into my mind thet my hour was, indeed, come; but there was no trouble in my mind; for if I must go, I would go by her hand, and that was as it should be. I looked her steadily in the eye for a time, and then the shining thing dropped with a clatter to the floor, and she stood still looking into my face. How long we stood thus I could not tell, but we both started as a voice came from outside the door, whispering to me: “Are ye thers, liftinent?"” “Yes. What is it, Callahan “There’s twilve min a-comi hill et the back of the house.”” “Go down again and work your trap on them. Let in half, and cover the others. Let them have it, if anything sudden oc- curs,” “Yes, sir. ye_found annywan?’ “‘Not & m ut I have not yet cov- ered the whole house. There’s some one in the back of the house here. Go down! T'll be with you in an instant. I heard him mutter something about coming down now, but he went away, &nd we could hear his step creak on the stalr. “Do you understand now?" I asked in a ‘whisper. She nodded her head and then I left her, and stole softly toward the door. “Do not go down,” came to me in h ried tones, as she moved after me. 1 do not want—I do not dare to stay her alone!” over the Have an! B r- “But I must down to take command of the men. I wve stayed here too long as it is." I be; alone! “You?” cried I, under my breath. “You, who have lain here night after night alone?” and with a puzzled feeling in my prain I looked hard at her in the dim light. Could she be trying to help her men by keeping me away from mine? Yet she was not of the kind that fear anything of this sort. e came and touched my arm, “Please stay here by me.” She was actually pleading. Either she had sud- Gerly changed or I had lost my wits, It £ould not be. Something lay beneath this. ““There is no fear in you,” said I tak- ing her hand from my sleeve and moving quickly to the door and through it into the hall. I heard a stified exclamation break from her; but my mind was made up. She had something to conceal, and, bitter at the thought, I stole softly to the head of the stairs. But it was not to be. Even as I got to the top step a long line of light spread from under the stairway, and, leaning cer, 1 saw & strange sight that might well have stirred her, or any woman, or yet man, for the matter of that. The iight came from an open B,“'e‘ beneath the stairs, and as I stood there, shooting my long nose over the rail, one—two— three—six—ave, eight—men stépped silent— 1y forth, one after the other, into the hall, The leader, a man in a Iong cape coat, held a shaded lantern in his hand and the others, evldentl{ by prearranged design. spread out, each gliding silently into a room, while two, the leader and another, you to stay! I cannot stay here moved swiftly to the stairs, and began to ascend. “‘S0!” sald I, bitterly, though in a low voice, as I stepped into the room. “So that is it, madam! You have, indeed, set me a pretty trap; and a fool like me is none too wise, but must needs fall into it. Well, mistress, I am sorry; but you shall see'. On_the instant the room became light, and I saw that she had lit the tallow dip. “Hide here In the curtains, quick!” she whispered. *“Do so quick: quick!"” 'Twas some instinct in me made me glide behind the heavy curtains by the open window, as the tall cloaked figure stepped in. I could see naught, but as he entered I heard an exclamation break from him: “So ho! my runaway wench,” cried he, “and here you are in papa's old house, und in the midst of a consplracy!” “I know not what you mean, but I would know, sir, Ly what rigkt you follow me here und by what right you dare to come into my chamber in this fashion.” “‘Easily told and explained, - Mistress Debby! ~ I suspected we would run you here to earth, and so I came to find papa’s daughter and to bring her home and to her wits.” “I will do what I choose; and I do not choose to receive you, nor will you take me_hence.” “Indeed, and I will, Debby! And do you make ready now in some garment fit for a horse’s back, and prepare to come with me on the minute. I like not this terri- tory. 'Tis too near our rebels for comfort. And, besides, there is other work for me to do to-night.” eave me, SIT. 1 have done with this You will come with me now,” cried he ily, and stepped up to her and toolk v the arm and shook her. “You will come with me now, on the instant!” ““And is there so much haste, then?’ The man wheeled on me with a sudden- ness that startled us all. I know not why I came forth, but I could not see her tyr- annized over; and though my mind was in a whirl as to the purpose of this stranger, as well as what might be going on below, I was out and at him with my hanger be- fore the words were well out of his mouth. He muttered to himself, “*“What the flend is this?”’ as he drew and guarded my thrust. Then he cried out to his man: ‘Shoot, fool! shoot him!™ Out sprang the report across the room, and a pane of glass fell behind me; but, as good luck would have it, the miss was clean and fair. At the same time, too quick, and too tangled up with our hurrying about the room to be at first distinguished from 1t, came an uproar from below stairs. Shot followed shot, and we could soon hear, above even the noize we made as we thrust and parried, the sounds of fighting from beneath. At the first he hesitated a moment muttering ‘“What may that be?’ But, as I pressed him sorely, he turned to me again, crying: “Dorkin, thou fool, fire! time! Fire, curse thy soul!” Then I saw the man come toward me, and I knew he could not miss again, There was naught to do but run, and I ran for the great bed, followed by the leader, who hafl thrown his great cape back over his shoulders. As I ran I caught a chair and swung it around to- ward the soldler, h!ttlnF him squarely on the shins, and he bowled over, cursin, with pain. That gave me a moment an I pushed a table at my adversary; but he, catching it, swung it aside, and at it again we went. All the while the terrible din below stairs increased, and cries and curses now added to the uproar. It ran through my mind to wonder how my men fared, and if Curtls were near encugh to hear. But I could do little, for my time was near up. “S’hoot ! shoot! coward,” cried the man again. csught, out of the corner of my eye, the soldier again on his feet and walkin ulowl%’ up to me, with his great pisto! held before him and bearing on me. And ‘s _more than strange how, gone though I knew I must be, I had out one thought—she should see what a patriot could do in his iast hour. Bo I gave a heavy lunge at my man, and again, still seeing the other growing slowly larger, —when there rang out another shot like a cannon's report in that room. “Missed agaln,” muttered I; but a curse from my opponent, and the heavy thud of a falilng body, told me he was down. Yet it did not take me long to real- fze what had happened; for I could not let my eye wander from the swerd that flashed in front of me constantly. As wa turned around one another, however, I caught the glimpse of Mistress Philipse, lcoking in terror at the floor in front of her, and holding my smoking revolver in her hand—and my good spirits flew back to thelr proper place. Up came from below a shout, and I heard cries and steps rushing up the stairs. Still my man pressed on his work; but what I had seen stomach to push him to the wall. then, too quick to be told here properly, my name sounded clear and brave in Acton’s volce, accompanied by the sounds of my approaching friends. For Lhe space of an instant we stood listening, and in that moment I turned to Mistress Phil- ipse, and cried: “Into the back room! quick! Walt for me there! Ah! you will attempt it, will you?’ this last to my adversary, as I saw him making for the window. 'Twas a_ hard moment's exchange of thrusts and he was too near the window: for, as I cried out and the door opened and Acton rushed in, the man turned, put his foot lightly on the low sill, and went out straight into the darkness with a fall of thrice his height below him. Yet even then, I noted that she had gone in flu nick of time. All might yet be well! We ran to the window and heard the volce of Curtis cry out, as he ran off into the night after my vanished oppon- ent. Then I soon learned that four Brit- ish soldlers were prisoners, and that five lay dead, or wounded, below. And while the men were discussing how many es- caped, Curtis walked into the room. ‘Waste no - 9 “Well?"” said I, struck by the expression on his face. He sat down and wiped his forehead without speaking for a moment; then said, as if to himself: “Sometimes 1 almost belleve in spirits.” “What now, lad?” asked Acton. ““Here was I standing in the door be- low,” said he, rising with far more anl- mation than he usually betrayed, ‘look- ing out into the night, when, who, think ye, literally dropped from the clouds?" “Why, lad, 'twas my man jumped from the window above,” said I. Curtis shook hls head. “’Twas the man with the cape! The man, as sure as I live! The man who Is known to us as Hazeltine! T knew him at once. I made after him, but”—and here he shrugged his shoulders—‘‘but he dis- appeared as if the darkness had swal- lowed him.” And I sat down and pondered what this might mean. CHAPTER X. HOW THE MOUSE BECAME A LION. ‘We left the house with the prisoners as quickly as possible, the dead being buried. And after continuing with the troop up the road for some distance I turned back on the excuse of having left something. As 1 came near the house again my mind misgave me. Would she walit? Would she trust me still? It would take the devil himself to tell her mind, and I could not judge. I had seen her now but three or four times, and yet I knew at Jeast twenty different humors; and heav- en knows how many more she had at her call to do her bidding. Still, she should ot have cause to doubt me.’ I, at least, would keep my word, and so I went on up the walk again to the side door and into the room where we had captured the mald and where the light still burned. Then on into_the front hall. Listening a moment and hearing naught, I called her name. A stifled exclamation came to me through the oak under the stairway, and the panel slid softly back. There was no light but what worked its wav across the her up started down the road for the vil- lage, just as the first signs of dawn'ap- peared over the hills. 2 For a time she lay quiet again, holding me tight bf’ the shoulder; and gradually the strong liquor and her own self-control checked the quiet weeping. Thus, still Iying close, she said: “You must not carry me. 'Tis too great a burden.” “L_could rot know . it. “Am I of so little consequence, sir?” ““You are—you are—oh, child, child, you know well what you are, and how little the den_uf carrying you weighs me dow Indéed, I sald it somewHat bit- terly, for everything was by the ears whichever way I might look. For answer she moved a little, turning her face up to me. . “Where are we going?” “To the village below here, can be warmed by a fire an woman to care for you.” “I need no woman to care for me,” sald she, quickly. *And I am quite satis- fled now. But will it please youir high- ness to let me try and walk a bit?” Setting her down I held her while she felt her own welght, and then finding she could indeed stand she let me lift her on Roger, and with one hand on my sioulder and the other on the good beast's neck she rode and I walked into the village, just as the morning spread over the land. “The dear sun,” said she, softly. ““there it is, as bright and clear as if there had been no dreadful night”; and she added presently, ‘It seems that we are destined to take early morning jaunts together.” 1 walked on in silence, stfll holding her arm. So we rode on into the village and, stopping at the first house of respectable look, I went in and found a good woman, who took Mistress Philipse and helped her to arrange her toilet. So I stood by the door, waiting her return, being my- self, to tell the truth, worn out with the night's work and the excitement of the past few hours. I stood thus when a horseman came by from the north. As he drew near, In spite of my own thoughts I could not forbear 1. smile. carry you to New York and o where you have some SA12Z vack haii from the other room. Yet could I see her as she stepped out from Lhe black hole, saw, too, that she leaned toward me, so that I caught her or she had been on the floor. What new mood was this? S... was lying in my arms, her head on my shoul- der, sobbing_ with the convulsive gasps of a child! She clung to me till the grip hurt my shoulder. % “What is it, Deborah?” I asked. “Hush! ‘What is it? There's naught wrong now. They're gone, child!"” Yet still she sobbed on. For the life of me I could not help it—she seemed so like a childi—and I patted her shoulder softly and bade her calm herself. “I cannot! I cannot!"” she sobhed. “God help me from such another hour!” “Why, how should so brave a girl fear a dark corner?” “Take me awa: away from her 'Come, now room. ““That man!" she cried in terror, looking n}; into my face with a frightened glance. “Is he gone?” “Long since, might, “Js he dead? DIid I kill a man?” “Dost know you saved my life?’ 1 asked, holding her close. There came a convulsive grip on my shoulder again. “Thank God! Thank God!" she mur- mured. “But did I kill a man?”’ “No, surely not,”” said I. Yet the fel- low lay in his new-made grave cold and stiffening fast. But she had so wild and crazed a look in her eyes I dared not add to her terror. And 'twas well I aid so, for with a long sigh the nerves relaxed and 1 lifted her in my arms and carried her out of the house into the cool morning air and down to the road with never a word nor move from her. 'Twas a sweet burden to c: , and, as I moved along she sighed n, in her half-conscfous condition, and reaching up one round arm put it about my neck. So could I have carried her a hundred miles. Was it not enough to make the warm blood flow back and forth to your heart? And would not a man give half his days to feel such another slowly throbbing against his coat? For the life of me I could not forbear to take the longest way to the gate—'twas but a paltry step at the longest. Come to the roadside, however, and by the horses, I sat down upon the grass, and, still holding her, waited in silence for very fear that she might wake and force me to let her gd. And then she drew something of 2 long breath and opened her eyes. ah, wilt not take me sald I, moving to the sald I, as soothingly as I T am S0 SOrry, “but—but will you— would you help me to a—"" And I had my arm about her n; for, indeed, the girl could not stand. “You are too weak to walk, and you must_trust to me as a gentleman—as a did not say so.” ou thought it, perhaps?” My thoughts are my own, mistress.” “Indeed, sir, I fancied they were any one's who might look on your face! “D_,oea my face, then, say I am a vil- lain?"’ “Oh, dost not see, stupid,” cried sh “how safe I feel with you out of that t rible house? Could I smile and joke, think you, after that, if I were not as free as air—only a little weak and tired and—"’ then of a sudden she Idaned her And head against my shoulder and wept soft- 1y, holding my arm tight the while. Do not cry o, mistress! Wilt not reat quietly a moment till strength comes to “You do not understand a woman!"” cried she, between sobs. “Go away and leave me—leave me alone! ‘What the flend I should do now I could not guess, till I bethought me of a pocket flask of brandy in the saddle, and laying her quietly by the roadside I was there and back in 2 moment and had forced her to take a swallow or two. After that, without more ado, I threw the reins of the two horses over one arm and picking = For he was the most comical looking bit of humanity it had been my fortune to meet in many a day. The horse was nearer dead than allve, lanky of limb, and seeming to have more corners and angles than the famous Rosinante of the Spanish writer's Don Quixote—a flerce lcoking beast with long teeth and no hair in his tall. “What in the name of the devil have you there, man?” cried I. “Ye have a Colonial dress, sir,” said the poor wretch saluting, but gazing out of his bloodshot eyes suspiclously. *‘Are ve perchance ah American officer? I told him I was. “Do ye, then, know aught of one Lieu- tenant Balfort, Merton Balfort?” “Yes,” said I, equally cautious; *“and what of him?” “I have a message for him.” “I am he.” Again he looked at me. “How am I to know he asked. I thought a moment and then said: “Did you meet any American troops go- ing north some hours ago?”’ “Yes, sir. Cavalry, under two officers.” “These officers. Do you know their names?”’ “Yes, sir.” “They were Lieutenants Curtls and Acton,” said I, “‘and carried British pris- oners.” “Your pardon, lieutenant,” sald he, humbly; and then grasped the door-post in evident exhaustion. “Sit down, man, and say on,” said I Me sank down on the step. “I missed you at the fort, and came on —the road above—I met Lieutenant Cur- tis—he told me you were below at the ferry—before I got there some hell- hound fired from the woods and killed my horse—three of them took me—robbed me, by God, sir—saving your presence, sitr—got my dispatches and read them, and kept them—I fought them hard, sir, but ‘twas no use—and then one of them hit me a crack on the head, and—may- hap they left me for the crows, for when I got to again, there was I by the way- shfe in the bushes—and I'm not so sure of what I did, but remember getting a farmer to give me that lump of clay over there, and so,” with a wan smile, *“so I got on.” T picked the poor fellow up, and bade him tell me if he knew the message or who 'twas had sent it. “I came from Tappan, sir, yesterday." “From headquarters?” cried L “Aye, sir, from the general himself?"’ “What was it, man? What was 1t?" «'Tis strange, now,” he muttered, put- ting his hand to his head, “I heard that son of hell read it but a few hours since.” “Think, man, think!" sald I, roughly. ‘Yes, yes,” cried bhe, looking up at me. «'Twas an order from the commander- {n-chief—for Lieutenant Balfort to report at headquarters at once—aye—at Tappan. Could ye.'rcould ye give me a drink of er, sir?"’ "}En'nlns to get the drink for him, I saw that Mistress Philipse had heard his mes- sage, and I would have given much to read her thoughts then.' B o b done, my man! ome, lef o ok hon I ‘here and_we carried him into txe front room and laid him on a sofa and gave him his flll of water. Then, while he lay quiet, I turned to ""-'Wm ou come to our breakfast?’ sald she, with just a shade of embarrassment in her tone and of red on her cheek. “Mistress,” sald I, “had you aught to do with the attempt to rescue Andre?— Nay, ‘tis an unfair question,” T added, hurriedly, for there came a sudden change {n her eyes. “I will ask another, instead. You heard this man's tale. Will —will others know of the message?"’ “Does the llon eat the mouse which gnawed his bands in twain?' she asked. t depends upon how hungry the lion 1. Atter breakfast the lion would not be so hungry.” “Then, it depends, too. on whether the lion is a chivalrous lion. “Do you think he is?” she asked 2N (A vb@%\%‘%&g@% slowly, looking out across the street. I took her hand and kissed it gently and aid: “I think she is. But I cannot stop for breakfast—I must be gone at once,”” and we moved out to the door. “What am I to do with you?” S‘X;e looked up without the shadow of a smile. “You might sell me—or, perhaps some man would be willing to hire—"" g “‘Madam, you jest upon a serious topic.” “Your duty bids you stay with me,’ sald she, seriously now. “You know I cannot.”” “Is, then, Mr. Washington so much more important than your—than I?" "Tis an unjust query. I must obey “You promised to obey me until death should us part.” Was she making sport of me again? “Wilt take me with you?" she cried im- pulsively. “Will you go?” I asked, grasping her hands. ““To ride over the land together for days and days?’ 3 “Aye, forever! Wilt go, Deborah? “And- wouldst take a spy into Wash- ington’s very headquarters?” 1y “And l:_l not (hetlllon chivalrous? I asked again earnestly. “What & foolish boy,” she sald softly with a smile, giving = my hand a little shake. “And yet,” half to herself, “and yet I-I'd not have you !axuolherwise, Nay, I stay here with good stress Ap- thorp—'tis all arranged half an hour ago— till her husband to-morrow takes me to the Tarrytown lines. Then home again,” she added with a sigh, *‘to home and the misery I tried to avoid.” The quaint humor in her was all gone again and she seemed almost to droop. An un- reasoning anger got the better of me that such a _condition should exist. This wretched war did naught but deprive me of—aye, of what? What, indeed? I could not for the life of me tell! Maybe much; maybe naught at all! “Good-by, Mistress Philipse,” sald I, holding out my hand. “Good-by, lieutenant,” sald she, tak- ing it. d then, somehow, I drew her a little £ toward me and lookea down nto ner eyes —great, brilllant eyes of brown dep God forgive me, they were not for me, and 1 straightened instinctively. Over the upturned face went a slowly § rose color as she sald very low: g T8, & very weak and unhappy lon——"* “And a desperate mouse,” I Interrupted. And so— Roger went up the road under me, snorting in amazement at the extraordi- nary pace demanded of him. CHAPTER XL IN WHICH ROGER LEADS IN A FAST RIDE. We had gone but a short distance when my thoughts came trooping back, and I pulled up. I was called to Tappan—a day was lost already—and up above wers men who had waylaid the messenger, who knew the contents of the note. 'Twould be felly to travel back to Verplancks and give them time to take me on the road or intercept me on the other side if they deemed it worth their while. My feeling was that they were merely a gang of Skinners pillaging this man like all oth- ers. But they might be, too, some of the escaped squad we nad outwitted In the «ld house, who were following up the rear of the troop. Most important of all, however, had not Curtis’ ghost found me with the girl, whom he seemed to know, and would he not try to get her by tak- irg me? At that I turned about and made for the ferry, crossing as soon as I could and setting out at once for Tappan. I knew the road well enough; for in my two weeks at the fort had crossed more than once, and from the drawings of the country in the colonel's possession the lay cf the land was moderately clear. So I had moved along for a mile or more, till Roger stopped to breathe at the peak of a long hill. As I looked back I saw two riders some distance behind, too far away to make them out, but ‘twas evident they were coming along at a quick gait. They seemed to have the dress of countrymen, and on this side of the river I knew ‘twas not so safe for cither British or outlaw as on the other. I'or a moment 1 hesitated, thinking to draw off the road and let them come up and pass. Then the mission I wi on seemed too important, and the chance of coming to blows with them too great a risk to be taken just now. Out stretched Roger, therefore, in his great stride, and I knew there were but few animals in the country could keep the good nag's pace. I taiked to him, as was my wont, ard bade him save himself, for that ha and I had some miles to cover and reither stumble nor slack might we in- dulge in. Roger and 1 were friends of long standing, and had had a run for our necks more than once. The good beast laid back his ears, saying, as plain as If in words, that if 'the devil were behind on the best that he could bri from his sul‘rhur home we would give him his due and a run for his money. Never can a man have more exhilarat- ing work than such a ride with seventeen hands of splendid horseflesh between his knees, and I laughed to myself to think of the run before us, if indeed the two countrymen behind were in search of me. The road lay over a rolling country— now down, now up, now straight again, winding between passes in the hills. So that shortly I made the top of another ong chimb and was about to go over a pass belween two wooded foothil's, when, turning back, I saw the two men down in the valley coming on at the best rate their horses could carry them. At that Instant one pointed up at me, and then toth urged on. ‘‘Roger, boy, lengthen thy stride and let them follow till they get their fill.” On went the nag. We reached the lane clearly enough, and I took it. Most of the way lay through the timber, and I ran out on_the Tn.pxan highway well nigh before I knew. And there. as my cursed luck would have it, stood three horsemen not 500 yards away. They caught sight of me as I looked back at them, and we +New ur.” ‘were all four off before much was thought or done. *Twas a bad business, breathed a space while Roger had been covering rod after rod. Sull, was I on the Tappan road and on the Tappan side of them, and had 500 yards to the good. Even then no horse of theirs could do more than keep the distance, or mayhap work off a yard or two now and then. Giving Roger the reins on his neck, I got out my two pistois and made read: for what might come. The horse cou take my guiding from the knee, and stretching out his neck he sped on. Running up a grade and turning the top of a hill, I laughed out joud to see in the valley beneath tents and flags and all the signs of a camp, and knew that Tappan lay but a coupie of miles away. Turning in the saddle, I waved my two arms at the men. They came thundering on, and the one in the lead discharged hls pistol, though it was far out of range. Looking ahead, I caught a bit of road beneath and saw the lagt of a troop of horse coming this way, 'Tis a long time, such an instant, but it had its end. Another shot sounded In the clear morning air, and I heard a howl in front and saw a horse go down as Lis troop came trotting around the curve. Up came Roger and wheeled about at a pres- sure of the knee just in time to see two of them turn about while the third lay still in the road. No explanation was needed, but I criad out to them to take the men, and some started in pursuit, while we picked up the dead man whose coat was blackened with the fire of the powder from my close shot. And out of his pocket came a paper that gave me a greater respect for Curtls’ “ghost” than I had yet had—gave me, t0o, a sense of insecurity tnat I had not felt in that long ride. The paper, which I read with the lieu- tenant who' commanded the troop, was s: ““You are to cover the road from Tappan from Gowan's Ferry. Watch for a man in lieutenant’s vniform, Balfort by name; i_e! him alive if possible. But get him. ‘ake the woman who is with him and hurt not a hair of her head. I follow the other two with the prisoners. Meet me at Gowan’s Tavern to-mofrow night. Wait two days there and then return. “HAZELTINE.” “Narrow escape, lleutenant,” said the young officer. “Indeed it was.” sald 1 absently, and then, waking up, I told him enough of the story to persuade him to let me o on. As I rode slowly into the camp I began to understand the feeling Curtis had for this extraordinary man, and to feel that he knew by some strange, almost super- natural, means what was going on In the American army. - Yet it was simple enough. He had taken the general's mes- senger, and, reading the dispatch, had sent out men to take me. Yet the thing rankled in my mind all the way to head- Quarters, and after, while I waited the return of General Washington. CHAPTER XII THE COMMANDER IN CHIEF. One, two, three hours [ waited. No one knew or would tell me when the general might return, and though I was allowed to walk up and down the hall of the old farmhouse then used as army headquar- ters, or even in the road before the house, I realized that I was not out of the sight of one sentry or another during all that time. "Twas not strange, since the credentials I brought were nothins more than my word, and no one about headquarters knew my name. Noon passed, and by good fortune I secured some food. And then the afternoon wore on. At last I was s b uarters, and, for they had by a stir about lurnlnfi saw a squad of of approaching on Horseback, with the great unmistakable figure leading passed me and entered the house without a word, only returning sa- lutes. None 1! id I know, ex- cept the straight figure of General Knox, whom I had seen at the Robinson house on that fateful morning. Shortly, however, I was summoned to enter, and found a large, low apartment occupied by the commander-in-chief, who was talking quietly with his officers. , Knox, it i3 a question of principle, not of the individual. He may be, indeed, I know he is a gentleman and a fine offi- cer, but the question deals with the whole discipline of the army, not with the case of a single man.” “It is a terrible duty,” replied the other sadly shaking his head as he gazed out of the window. The general saw me, and sald to the others: “‘Gentlemen, I have some private bus! ness with this young man.” And they went silently out of the room. “Lieutenant Balfort,” said Washington, turning to me without hesitation, “you have yed quickly. It is correct mili- u.ri' discipline.” “I have been here ten lhours, your Ex- cellency.” “I know,” said he. “I was, however, otherwise ocuugled. Lieutenant,” he con- tinued, “In such times as these judgments e quickly correct and unflinching. I aid not reply. “I have sent for you,” continued the general, “to give you & commission of &:}t importance. I do not know you. I trust you?" I looked him full in the eye and met a glance that made me shiver In spite of myself. “You can, sir.” “I think I can. Then, after a moment's pause. “You are not known to any one in this Hudson River country?’ “To no one but Colonel Livingstons's command. “You are known to others.” *“To others?” *“To a dozen British soldiers, five of whom are at large.” “Yes, that is How could he have heard of last night work so soon? “You should have taken them all. They are dangerous men, and one who escaped is more dangerous than all the dezen put together.” “It was impossible, sir, under the—" "Nothlng-l- impossible, sald Washington quietly. on, “You have never been in New York?™ “No, your Excellency.” Washington paused again. “Lieutenant, you are to prepare to un- dertake a difficult work.” “Yes, your Excellency. “You are to go to Ne es, your Excellency. ou will examine the sed a moment. he situation of—'" f Benedict Arnold’s house at 3 Broad- way. You are to form some plan for ab- ducting the traitor Arnold across the Hudson to Communipaw, where you will be safe.” I _could not rep “You will then Arnold alive to me here.’” I could scarce tell whers I was with this calm voice laying upon me so easily such a work. “You can do it7” “It shall be done, your Excellency, if the traitor is In the town.” “You will also search out a man who you know him had started in- funtarily. ‘He may not be In the town when you get thers. If not, wait for him ess the Arnold matter Is more urgent.” “It shall be done, your Excellency.” None might question this man. “If you bring him to me, dead or alive, you will bring the most dangerous n the British army. Stil further: Str ry Clinton has by this time heard of the arrival of Rochambeau's fleet, and will be forming some plan for cutting off his co-operation with me. I must know this plan in time to stop it or—" : You must stop it yourself.” “It shall be dome, your Excell " Why T spoke with such confidence, God only knows. whole bearing th great soldier seemed to that moment, and I felt be done as he sald. I little knew what w.ilmtmm.i’ itintied ww leutenant, conf . still more slowly, “no human g _In this world knows of this commission but you and I, and if you are taken—'" shall not be, your Excellency.” “If you are taken, sir, neither I nor any human soul can uva?ur life. You will be hung as a spy cannot lift a fin- ger_to help you.” “I understand,” sald I, looking him in the eye. “Now, as to your necessaries,” he went into anot room, mln& - moment with several s. In in- stant of his absence d made up my m‘ll!lddm one thing, and as he returned [ agked: “Your Excellency gives me three com- missions 2" ““Well, sir?” said he, In some “It will be wiser to have three men ex- ecute them.” “That is _ Impossible,” he answered qnlekli. “Three American soldiers in ‘ork would be discovered in an lour.’ “Not the three that will go.”" N ts apossible.’ relterated the com- and they must be York at onca™ situation.” He pa