The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 13, 1903, Page 3

CHAPTER XLVL HOW OUR PIECE MISS! FIRE AT HARNDON AC S. This adventure of ours into Winnsbor- bore fruit at the start. The town bubble over Master Harndon's fes-. ties fur the evening, and Dick and I ned on the i ant of our arrival town to attend it. We did AS we had hoped to find it, this rout at er Harndon's wa >d half of the g plain clothes 2 a stifling jam, and sts were in civilian Paris nor London far t for then American dames and maids wc year's cropping of their backs, there the thinking n was no lack of sl iff brocade 4 I went apart 1 I trembied, n but for Richard's, m: jad was having no mc this was as poc information as for was 1t had should room med ng for the no were littie g ers standing 3 ce as oups a ng the promontory of thi ble’s end to come to anchor d d 1 »assing. The wearer of the sleeve had Here was a halter witk end of it, was La. Mr. Septimus; how you startled me!” she cried. Then, without a tremor of the lip or a pause for breath-taking, she presented me Colonel Tarleton; Mr. Septimus Ireton of Iretondene, in Virgt And next to Dick: “Mr. Richard; my good friend, Mr. Ireton.” Twas done so cleverly and with such &n air that even Dick, who had knawn from hildhood, was struck dumb th admiration, as his face sufficiently advertised. And, indeed, I had much ado play my own part with any decent self-possession, though I did make shift to bow stiffly, and to say. “I see I should have brought the Iretondene title deeds with me tp make you sure that [ &m not my_rebel cousin John, Mistress Margery. Your servant, Colonel Tarle- ton; and yours, Mr. Richard.” Dick's bow was an elaborate hiding of his tell-tale face; but the colonel's was the slightest of nods, and I could feel -black eyes of him boring into my lady given him but a mo- time I make no doubt he would e come instantly at the truth and the little farce would have been turned into & tragedy on the spot. But she gave him no time. The spinet in the ballroom al- cove was tinkling out the overture to a minuet, and she laid the tips of her dainty fingers on the coionel's arm. “This be ours to walk through, will it not, Colonel Tarleton?’ she said, playing the sprightly minx to the very climax of perfection. Then she dipped us a curtsy. “Au revoir, gentlemen. ‘Tis a thousand pities you had not joined sooner and so had the red coat and small sword to grace you here.” When they were gone Dick laughed sardonically. “Saw ypu ever such a cold-blooded lit- tle jade in all your life? *Twas with me as it was with you; L too, stumbled upon them, and the colonel bustled me and set his beels upon my foot. I daresay I should have iad myself in irons in an- other moment but for Madge. She slipped in between and introduced us as sweetly as you please.” “Nevertheless,” said I, “the colonel recognized us both.” *“No! Think you so? “*Tis certain enough to play upon. What we do now must be quickly done or not at all. What have you over- heard™ He swore softly. “Never a cursed word: less than nothing of any interest to Dan Morgan.” “We must try again. "Twill surely be talked of here if the army is about to move. Do you take a turn in the ante- room and meet me in a quarter of an hour at the outer door.” At the word Dick promptly lost him- self in the throng while I made a slow circult of the refreshment table. Once I thought I had a clew when a girl hang- ing on the arm of an infantry lieutenant said: “Will it be true that you will pres- en go out to hunt down the rebels, Mr. Thornicroft?” But the prudent lieu- tenant smiled and put her off cleverly, leaving his fair questioner—and me— wiser. nt on, drifting aimlessly from group to group and dallying of set pur pose. 1f 1 had read Colonel Tarleton's glance aright the moments were grow- ing diamond-precious: but as yet neither bhalf of my errand was done. Come what might, 1 must see Margery again and have ner teu me where and how to find the priest: and ‘twas borne in upon me that she would come back to seek me as soon as she could be free of her partner in the dance. The forecast as to my lady had its ful- fillment while yet the spinetter was striking out the final chords of the min- uet. A lady dropped her kerchief, and [ was before her swain in stooping to pick it up. As I bowed low in returning the bit of lace to its owner, a voice that I had Jearned to know and love whispered in my ear. “Mske your way to the clock landing of the stair; I must have speech with you.” it said; and for a wonder I was cool enough to obey with no more than & sidelong glance at my lady passing on the arm of another epauletted dangler. She was before me at the meeting -place, and there was no laughing wel- come in the deep-welled eyes. Instead. thgy flashed at me a look that made me wince. “What folly is this, sir?” she demand- “Will you never have done taking your own life into your ed my honor and reckless hands?" I bowed my head to the storm. With the dagger of my miserable errand stick- ing in my heart there was no fight in me. T am but come to do your bidding.,” I id, slowly. for the words cost me sore- ¥ in the coin of anguish. “I had your letter, and if you will say how I may find her Matthieu—" She broke me in the midst. “Mon Dieu!" she cried. “Could I guess that vou would come here, into the very noose the gallows? Oh, how you do heap rn on scorn upon me! Once you made silent consent to a falsehood d; twice, nay, thrice, you have de me disloyal to the king; and now you come again to make me look the world in the face and tell a smiling li to shield you! O Holy Mother, pity me!” this she put her face in her :d began to sob, »w we were only measurably isolated « s and some sense of the haz- P »ok—a hazard involving her as v Richard and myself—steadied me shock. arself,” I whispered. “What done; and the misery is not Tell me how I may st. and I will do my errand a sudd trol is done, is all urs to suffer. pr dt be i can not stay to find him now— vou must not,” she insisted, coming out of the fit of despair with a rebound. “He is in the town—indeed, I know not where he is just now. Can you not endure it a longer, Captain Ireton?” said 1. sullenly. “I have been ie all these months to the friend and I will not do it more.” mistaken? Surely there of anger in eyes were lifted to ine, and a tremulous note of ezsvrness in the v that said: hen Dick es not v ?>—you have not teld him I have told no one.” “Poor Dick!” she said softly. thought he knew. and I—" She paused, and in the pause it flashed upon me how she had wronged my dear lad; how she had thought he make brazen l¢ to her knowing inked God e 3 would she w the wife of another. It in my heart that I had been able to right him thus far. After a time she said: “Why did vou make me man yo Monsieur »hn? Oh, I have ked my brain so T to that question. I know e my honor. But heavier penalty could have been laid ou left me as I was.” but a short-sighted fool, and t” I rejoined. striving hard to bitterness of soul ou of my At the moment it seemed the out of the pit of doubt into v word to Colonel Tarleton had you. But there was another ive. You saw the paper I night, with Lieutenant Tybee and father's factor for the witnesses?” vou know what it was?” the last will and testame; Ireton, gentleman, in athed to Margery. his wife, his » of Appleby Hu 5 Hundred?” red. she echoed. “But my ‘Your father holds but.a confiscator's title. and it, with many others, has been voided by the Congress of North Caro- d Jenniter is my dear friend, and you— 2 “l1 begin to understand—a little,” she said, and now her voice was low and she d not look at me. Then in the same “But now—now you would gain? iow can you ask? As matters stand e marred your life and Dick’'s most ssly. Do you wonder that I en reckless of the hangman? that I care not for my interfering life 2t this moment, save as the taking of it y inveolve you and Richard?” 0, surely,” she said. still speaking softly. And now she gave me her eyes to look into, and the hardness was all melted out of them. “Did you come here, under the shadow of the gallows, to tell me this, Monsieur John? “There shall be no more half-confi- dence between us, dear lady. I had my leave of General Morgan on. the 'score of our need for better information of Lord Cornwallis’ designs; but I should have come in any case—wanting the leave, my commission as a spy, or any other excuse.” “To tell me this?” “To do the bidding of your letter, and to say that while I live I shall be shamed for the bitter words I gave you when I was sick.” “I mind them not; I them.,” she said. “But 1 have not forgotten them, nor had forgotten ever shall. Will you say you forgive me, Margery “For thinking I had poisoned you? How do you know I did not?” “I have seen Sciplo. Will you shrive me for that disloyalty, dear lady?” “Did I not say I had forgotten it?” “Thank you,” I sald, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. “Now one thing more, and you shall send me to Father Matthieuw. 'Tis a shameful thing to speak of, but the thought of it rankles and will rankle till I have begged you to add it to the things forgotten. That morning in your dressing room—" She put up her hands as if she would push the words back “Spare me. sir,” she begged. “There are some things that must always be un- speakable between us, and that Is one of them. But if it will help you to know— that I know—how—how you came there—" She was flushing most painfully, and I was scarce more at ease. But having gone thus far, I must needs let the thought consequent slip into words. “Your father’s motives have ever been misunderstandable to me. What could he hope to gain by such a thing?” I had no sooner sald it than I could have bitten my masterless tongue. For in the very voicing of the wonder I saw, or thought I saw, Gilbert Stair's pur- pose. Since I had not made good my promise to die and leave the estate to Margery, he would at least make sure of his daughter's dowry in it by putting it beyond us to set the marriage aside as a thing begun but not completed. So, hav- ing this behind-time flash of after-wit, I made haste to efface the question I had asked. “Your pardon, I pray you; I see now "tis a thing we must both bury out of sight. But to the other—the matter which has brought me hither; will you put me in the way of finding Father Matthieu?” We had talked on through the meas- ures of a cotillon, and the dancers, warm and wearied, were beginning to fill the entrance hall below. Our poor excuse for privacy would be gone in a minute or two, and she spoke quickly. “You shall see Father Matthieu, and I will help you. But you must not linger here. In a few days the army will be moving northward—Oh, heavens! what have [ said!" “Nothing.,” I cut in swiftly; “you are speaking now to your husband—not to the spy. Go on, if you please.” “We shall return to Appleby Hundred withir. the fortnight. There, If you are still—Iif you desire it, you may meet the good cure, and—" 2 A much-bepowdered captain of cavalry was mmln’. up the stair to claim her, and I was fain to let her go. But at m; passing of her to the step below, I : “I shall keep the tryst—my fii and last with you, dear hdf' Adieu. 8o soon as she was gone I made haste to find Richard, having, fear greatly overstayed my appointment to meet him at the door. He was not among the promenaders in the hall, so I P 2 signed* THE SUNDAY CALL. - AN began to drift again, through the ball- room and so on to where the spread table stood ringed with its groups of nibblers. I had made no more than half the round of the refectory when I saw Margery standing in the curtained arch, looking this way and that, with anxious terror written plainly in her face. “What is it?” I asked, when she had found me out. b “*Tis the worst that could happen, she whispered. “You are discovered, both of you. Colonel Tarleton was too shrewd for us. He has let it be kngwn among the officers that there are two spies in the house, and now. Hark! what is that?" We were standing in a deep window- bay and 1 drew the curtain an inch or two. The air without was filled with the trampling of hoofbeats on green- sward. A light-horse troop was sur- rounding the manor house. I drew her arm in mine and led her back to the ballroom; ‘twas now come to this, that open publicity was our best safeguard. “We must find Dick,” said I “Have you seen him?” Together we made the slow circuit of the dancing room, but Jennifer was not to be found. Out of the tail of my ?)’; an saw a soldier slipping in here there to stand statue-like against the wall. This brought it to a matter of miautes, of seconds, mavhap, and still we looked In vein for Dick. “Oh. why did you bring him here? He will surely be taken!” Her voice wi tremulous with feer, and 1 answered as I _could, being sore at heart, in spite ot all, that her chief concern should be for Richard. But by now my purpose was well ta- ken, and though it appeared that Richard Jennifer was more than ever my suc- cessful rival, 1 piedge you, my dears, i had no thought of leaving him behind. So we made another slow round of the rooms. and while we were looking for Dick I spoke in guarded whispers to warn my lady of Falconnet's return. But the warning was not reeded. Her shudder of loathing shook the kand on my arm. “That man! Oh, Mo: sieur John! I fear him day and night 1f I could but run away; but we are not finding Dick—we must find him quickly!” There was no other place to look save in the entrance hall, and at the door one of the statue-like soldiers took two steps aside and barred the way. I faced aboat and we plunged once again into the throng. but not before I had had :\ glimpse of Richard in the hall beyon When the chance offered, I bent to whis- pe! Dick is in the hall, looking for me. Go you to him and warn him. may not pass the door, as you have seen.” “He will not escape without you,” she demurred. “Tell him he must. Tell him I say he must!” She glanced over her shoulder with a look in her eyes that made me think of a wounded bird fluttering in the net of the fowler. “Oh, #is hard, hard!" she murmured. 1 tched the word from her lips. “To choose between love and wifely duty? quickly She went at that, and I made my way Then I make it a command. Go, taking post in a_deep-recesse giving upon the lawn. Though January and tne night was chill and raw, the rooms were summer warm with the breath of the crush, and some one had swung the casement. Without, 1 could hear the horses of the waliting troop champing restlessly at their bits, and now and again low gentling words of the riders. Why the colonel did not spring his trap at once I could not guess: though I learned later that he had magnified our two-man sSpy- ing venture into a patriot foray meant to capture the whole houseful of British officers at a swoop, and was taking his measures accordingly. ‘Twas while | was listening to the champing horses that I heard yny name whispered in the_darkness beyond . the open casement. I turned slowly, and the nearest of the soldier watchers began to edge his way toward my window. “'Tis I—Dick Jennifer,” whispered the voice without. “Swing the casement a little wider and out with you. Be swift for God's sake!" ' I whispered back. - “Make off as you can. “And leave you behind?”' 8o much I heard; and then came sounds of a strug- gle; the breath-catchings of two men locked in a strangler's hold, a smothered ocath or two, a fall on the turf under the window, followed by the soft thudding of fist blows. I could bear it no longer. The edging soliier had come within arm's reach, and when I swung the case- ment a little wider, he laid a hand on my shoulder. “In the name of the king!” he said; and this was all he had time or leave to say. For at the summons I drove my fist against the point of his wagging Jaw, and the recoil of the blow carried me clear of the window seat with what a din and clamor of a hue and cry to speed the parting guest as you may fig- ure for yourselves. The alighting ground of the leap was the body of Dick's late antagonist lying rone beneath the window ledge; but the jad was up and ready to catch me when I stumbled over the vanquished one. “'Tis legs for it now.” he cried. “Make for the avenue and the horses at the hitch rail!” At rising twenty a man may run fast and far; at rising forty he may still run far if the first hundred yards do not burst his bellows. So when we had darted through the thin line ¢f encircling horsemen and were fiying down the broad avenue with all the troopers who had caught sight of us thundering at our heels, Dick was the pace-setter, while I made but a_ shifty esecond, gasping and panting and dying a thousand deaths in the effort to catch my second wind. “Courag: shouted Dick, flinging the word back over his shoulder as he ran. “There is help ahead if we can live to reach the gate!” ’ But, luckily for me, the help was near- er at hand. Half way down the box-bor- dered drive, when I was at my last gasp, the shrill yell of the border partisans rose from the shrubbery on the right, and a voice that I shall know and wel- come in another world cried out: “Stiddy, boys, stiddy till ye can see the whites o' their eyes! Now, then; glve it to ‘'em hot and heavy!” A haphazard banging of guns followed end the pursuit drew rein in some confu- sion, giving us time to reach the great gate and the horse rail, and to loose and mount the gray and the sorrel we had marked out. While we were about this last, Eph- raim Yeates came loping down the ave- nue and through the gate to vault into the saddle of the first horse he could lay hands on; and so it was that we three took the northward road in the silver starlight, with the pursuit now in order again and in full cry behind us. "Twas not until we had safely run the gauntlet of the vedette lines by a by- path known to the old hunter, and had shaken off the troopers that were follow- ing, that I found time to ask what had become of the men who had formed the ambush in the shrubbery. The old man gave his dry chuckle of a laugh. "fwn the same old roose de geer, as the down-country Frenchers 'u'd say. [ stole the drunken ser t's gun and two others, and let 'em one to a time. As for the screechin’, one bazoo's as as a n, if so be ye blow it fierce enou ' s cut and dried beforehand,” Dick explained. “I had an inkling of what was afoot from Ephraim here, whom I stumbled on when 1 dro:sed from the stair window that Madge opened for me. He went to set his one- mln’mbush while I was trying to warn w"s«." said I. “Our skins are whole, but after all we have come off with never a word to take back to Dan Mor- gan—unless you have the word.” Not 1" Dick said, ruefully. The old man chuckled again. “Ye ain’t old enough, neither one o’ ye, ez I allow. It takes a right old person to fish out the innards of an inimy's se- crets. Colonel Tarleton, hoss, foot and dragoons, with the seventh rigiment and a part of the seventy-first, will take the big road for Dan Morgan’'s camp to-mor- Tow at sun-up. And right soon atter- ward, Gin'ral Cornwallis ‘1l foller on. Is mt.o:?;} you youngsters was trying to CHAPTER XLVIIL HOW WE KEPT TRYST AT APPLEBY HUNDRED. 'Twas late in the afternoon of the last day of January when we set out to- gether, Jennifer and I, from the camp of conference at Sherrard's Ford. The military situation, lately so criti- cal for us, had reached and passed one of its many subclimaxes. Morgan's lit- tle army, with its prisoners still safe in hand, was on its way northward to Char- lottesville, in Virginia, and only the offi- cers remained behind to confer with General Greene. For the others, Huger and Williams were hurrving up from Cheraw to meet the general at Salisbury; and General Daviuson, with a regiment of North Car- olina volunteers, was set to keep the fords of the Catawba. As for the British commander's in- tendings, we had conflicting reports. Two dzys earlier, Lord Cornwallis had burned his heavy baggage at Ramsour's Mill, and so we had assurance that the pursuit was only delayed. But wiether, when he should break his camp at For- ney's plantation, he would go northward after Morgan and the prisoners, or cross the river at some nearhand ford to chase our main, none of our scouts coyld tell us. We were guessing at this. Richard and I, as we jogged on together down the river ford, and were agreed that could my lord cross the flooded river without loss of time, his better chance would be to fall upon our main at Salisbury or thereabouts. But as to the possibility of his crossing, we fell apart. “Lacking another drop of rain, we are safe for forty-eight hours yet,” Dick would say, pointing to the brimming river roiling its brown flood at our right as we fared on. “And with two days’ start we shall have him burning more than his camp wagons to overtake us.” “Hdve it so, If you will.,” said I. to end the argument. “But this 1 know: were Dan Morgan or General Greene, or you or I, in Lord Cornwallis' shoes, the two days would not be lost.’ Jennifer laughed. “Leave the rest out, Sir Hannibal Ireton, and tell what you would do.” he said, mocking me. We were- at that bend in the road where Jan Howart and his Tories had sought to waylay us in the cool gray dawn of a certain June morning when we were galloping this same road to keep my appointment with Sir Francis Falcon- net. A huge rock makes a promontory in the stream just here, and I pointed to a water-worn cavity in it where the flood lapped in and out in gurgling eddies. “You've been sharp to take me up on my forgetting of the landmarks, A but there is one I've not forgotten,” said I. “Oqe day, about the time you were get- ting yourself born, I was passing this way with my father and a company of the county gentlemen. 'Twas in the Seven Years’ War, and the Cherokees were threatening us from the other side. The river was in flood as it is now; and I mind my father saying that when you could see that hole in the rock Macgow- an’'s Ford would be no more than armpit deep. said Richard; “then it behooves us to—" He stopped in mid sentence, drew rein and shifted his sword hilt to the front. “What is it?" I asked. ‘or reply he pointed meé to a canoe ‘hidden 2 4n the bushes where road- -side and river edge came together. I laughed. “An empty pirogue. Shall we charge and run it through?” “Hist!" sald he; “that canoe was afloat a minute since. Mark the paddle—'tis dripping yet. s he spoke an Indian stood up in the bushes beside the pirogue., holding out his empty hands in token of amity. We rode up and were presently shaking L\;nda with our old-time ally, the Cataw- “How!” said he; “heap how! Chief Harris_glad; wah! Make think have to g0 to Sal'bury to find Captain Longknife and Captain Jennif. Heap much glad!” “Chief Harris?" I queried. “Who may he be?” The Catawba drew himself drummed upon his breast. “Chief Harris here, he answered proudly” “The Great War Chief,” by which we understood he meant General Greene, “say all Catawba take warpath 'gainst redcoat; make Uncanoola head- man; give 'um new name. Wah!” At this we shook hands with him again. well pleased that our stanch ally should have recognition at the hands of the general. Then I would ask if he were on the way to raise his tribesmen to fight with us. - “Bimeby; no have time now; big thing over yonder,” pointing across the river. “Manitou Cornwall fool Great War Chief, mebbe, hey?” “How is that?’ said Dick; and the query elicited a bit of news to make us prick our ears. The Catawba had been in the British camp at Forney's, posturing again as a Cherokee friendly to the king’'s side. Some sudden movement had been determined upon. though what it ‘was to be He could not learn. At the end of his own resources he had crossed the river in a stolen pirogue to find and warn us. up and 'Wkat say you, Dick?’ I asked, when we had heard the Catawba through. The lad was holding his lip in his band and scowling as one who pits duty against inclination. “'Tis our cursed luck!” he gloomed. Then he swore it out by length and breadth, and, when the air was cleared, let me have what was In his mind. “After all, 'tis like enough we should find Appleby house deserted. Gilbert Stair will cling to Lord Cornwallis’ coat- skirt s long as he can for sheer safety’s sake. At all events, our business must wait; the country’'s weal comes first." Then to the Indian: “If we can make the beasts take the water, will you ferry us across, chief?” The Catawba nodded, and made the nod good by setting us dry-shod on the farther bank of the brown flood. By, the time we had the horses rubbed down and resaddled 'twas twilight in the open and night dark in the wood; but we were on our own ground and knew every by-path through the forest. So. when we had sent the Indian back to carry news of us to General Davidson at the lower ford, and to advertise him of our purpose, we mounted to begin a scouting jaunt, keeping to the wood paths and bearing cautiously northward toward the enemy's camp at Forney's plantation. At times we were close upon the Brit- ish sentries, with every nerve strained tense for fight or flight; anon we would be making wide detours through bog and fen, or beneath the black network of wet branches with the rain-soaked leaf beds under foot to make the horses’ treadings as noiseless as a cat's. None the less. in the fullnes of time— ‘twas near about midnight as we guessed it——we had our patience well rewarded. Hovering on the confines of the camp we heard the muffied drum-tap of the re- veille..and soon there was the stir of an sm‘{' making ready for the march. “Which way will it be, north or south?” whispered Dick, when we had gllm-mnled to cloak the heads of the oTses. “We shall know shortly.” said I; and truly. we did, being well-nigh enveloped and ridden down by the fringe of t- horse deploying to pioneer the g Wh‘z*n we had sheered off to let this skir- misH cloud by, Dick struck a spark into his tinder-box to have a sight of his compass needle. . “South and by east” he announced; ;"t-)mt will mean Beattie’s Ford, I take “Not_unless they swim, horse and foot,” I objected. “'Twill be Macgow- an’s. more likely.” Having this uncertainty to resolve, w must hang upon the skirts of the British advance till we could make sure, and this proved to be a most perilous busi- mess. Yet by riding abreast of the mov- ing main we did résolve the uncertainty: heard the orders passed from man to man, and later saw a small feinting de- tachment split off to take the road for Beattie's, while the main body held on for Macgowan's; all of this before we were discovered in the gloaming of the dawn by some of Tarleton's men. Then. [ promise you, my dears. it was neck or nothing. with the devil to take the bindmost. Away we sped toward the near-by river, spurring our wearied beasts as men who ride for life, with a dozen troopers so close upon us that when I glanced over my shoulder the foremost of the redcoat riders was hav- ing his face well bespattered with the mud from my horse's heels. ‘Twas touch and go, but happily, as T ha said, the river was at hand. We came to the high bank some hundred yards above the fording place, and lack- ing Dick s example to shame me to the braver course, 1 fear 1 should have re- cofled at the brink. But when the lad sent his horse without the missing of a bound far out over the eddying flood, [ shook the reins on the sorrel's neck, gave him the word and shut my eyes. Aftér all, it was nothing worse than a cold plunge, with a few pistol bullets to spatter harmlessly around us when we came up for air. Moreover, there were the campfires of Davidson's men on the farther bank to encourage us; and so swimming and wading by turns, we got across in time to give the alarum. As you would guess, there was a mighty stir on our side of the river when we had splashed ashore and got our news well born. As it turned out, Gen- eral Davidson's main camp was a good half-mile back from the river in one of the outfields of Appleby Hundred. So it chanced there were upom the spot only brave Joe Graham and his fifty riflemen to gispute the passage of an army. ‘What was done at Macgowan's Ford in tHe gray dawn of the morning of Febru- ary 1, 1781, has become a page in our history. But I protest that not any of the chroniclers do evén-handed justice to the little band of patriot riflemen doing their utmost to hold a hundred-to-one outnumbering host in check. ‘Twas a fine sight., be the onlooker Whig or Tory. The Guards, led by the fiery Irishman, O'Hara. took the water first, the men crowding shoulder to shoulder to brace against the sweep of the current, which, on the western side of the stream, was little less than a mill- tail for swiftness. After them came the foot and horse in solid squares, and al- ways with more to follow. Ndne the less, our little handful did not blanch; and when the Guards in midstream held straight across instead of bearing to the right as the ford ran, a shout went up on our side and the fifty hastened up from the fordhead as one man to face the enemy squarely. Now it was that the brown-barreled rifies began to crack and spit fire; and I do think if we had had our other two hundred and fifty out of that back field on the manor lands, we might at least have made the wading redcoats hurry a little. Indeed, as it was, the van of the Guards broke here and there, and we could hear O'Hara berating his men as onily a battle-mad krishman can, with blarneyings and curses intermingled. Having no flrearms save our wetted pistols, Jennifer and I crouched in cover, waiting to do what two swordsmen might when the blade's length should bridge the fast-narrowing distance be- tween us and the advancing host. "Twas in this little interval of forced inaction that e heard a most fa- miliar voice isSuing from a clump of holly just below our covert; a voice lifted now: in fervent prayer and again in scriptural anathema on the foe. “‘Let G arise and his inimies be scattered. ® * * Let them be as chaff upon a threshing floor.”—" The sharp crack of the old borderer's rifle filled the momentary pause, and a British officer in a colonel’s uniform swayed drunkenly in his saddle and plunged headlong in the stream. “‘Let them be as the children of Am- alek before the Mighty Ome of Israel; make them and their princes like Oreb ard Zeeb; yea, make all their princes like as bah and munna. * - b O my God, make them like unto a wheel, and asg the stubble before the wind; ltke as the fire that burneth up the wood. and as the flame that consumeth the moun- tains.’ Crack! went the long-barreled piece again. and again an officer hallooing on his fioundering battalion bent to his saddlehorn and slipped into the turbid lood. My gorge rose. This picking off of of- ficers has always seemed to me the sav- agest of war’s barbarities. How Richard divined my thought and purpose, I know not; but when I would have slipped down to Yeates' holly bush he laid a detaining hand on my arm. “Let be,” he said, “’tis murder, if you like, but all war is that. When old Eph’'s turn comes, thei will kill him as relentlessly as he is killing them.” By this time the British vanguard was storming ashore through the shallows below the tree fringe which served as cover for Graham's men, and the king's muskets, silent hitherto, began to roar and belch platoon and volley fire. Jennifer craned his neck and took a swift view of the situation. “By the Lord Harry!” he cried, “’'tis high time Joe Graham was getting his lads in order for a foot race. Once those fellows come ashore they'll play hare and hounds with us to the king'sstaste. Xeep yvour eye on the nags, Jack. It may chance us to do what two men can to cover a belated retreat.” ‘We had tethered our horses in a thick- €t of scrub oak where they would be out of bullet reach until the enemy gained the bank. As I looked to e sure of them, the sorrel gave a shrill neigh to welcome the pounding of hoofs on the Appleby road. 1 made sure this would be General Davidson bringing in the re- serves; and so, indeed, it was; but he came too late. O'Hara's men were al- ready climbing the bank: and Joe Gra- ham was rallying his little company for flight in the face of an onset that made the tree fringe sing with musket balls. “'Tis our cue to run away!” Dick shouted, dragging me to my feet. “To the horses!" But now we were too late. David- son's men were between us and the scrub oak thicket, and we must wait till the column swept by Dick swore fervently and put his face to the foe and his back to a tree. Where- upon I dragged him down as promptly as he had just now dra; me up. teiling him his broadsword would make but a poor ‘shift parrying musket-balls. ‘What followed after was over and done with in a dozen fluttering heart beats. Seeing the case was desperate, General David: gathered Graham's fifty into his flying column, flogged his rear’ into the retreat. and was pitched out of his saddle by a Tory rifle bullet while he was doing it. And when the way to our horses was clear of the galloping Caro- linians, and we would have run to mount and ride after them, the swarming red- coat van was upon us. “Up with you and out of this!” cried Jennifer, -emnf me the example. “We must e'en gallop as we can. Quick, man! But in the gathering and the retreat our old sharpshooter under his holly bush had been left behind; and now we heard him again, chanting his terrible imprecations on the enemy. Dick saw the meaning in my look, and together we pounced to drag the old man out of hiding. When we burst down upon him, Yeates had his piece to his face and was drawing a bead on a stout man in cocked hat and plain regimentals whose horse was curveting_and sidling in the nearer shallows; no less a figure, in truth, than my Lord Cornwallis him- self, cheering his men on to the attack. ‘We had scarce made out the old hun- ter's target when the rifle spat fire, the curveting charger reared in its death plunge, and the British commander-in- chief, unhurt, as it seemed, was dragged the entanglement of his stirrups by his aids. The old marksman sprang up in a fury of wrath. “Dad blast ye for a pair of aim-sp'ilin'—" A roar of musketry cut the rebuke in half, and a storm of bullets smote through the branches overhead. A fall- ing bough knocked my hat off, and 1 stooped to recover it. When I rose, Dick was clipping the old man tightly in his arms. Yeates' belt was cut, and a little oozing well-spring “ of red was slowlv soaking the fringe of his hunt- ing-shirt. “Ease me down, Cap’'n Dick; ease me down. The old man's done for, this time, ez I allow—spang in the innards. Ease me down and get off for yerselves, if 80 be ye can, im—me—jit—" The wagging Jaw dropped and the keen old eyes went dim and sighitless. Dick’s oath was more a sob than an im- precation; and now it was I who sal “Come on—the living before the dead and so we made the well-nigh hopeless dash for the horses. How we rode free out of that hurly- burly at the ford head you must figure for yourselves, if you can. The men of the British vanguard were all about us when we got to the serub oak thicket and mounted, but no one of them raised a hand to stay us. I have thought since that mayhap they took us for a pair of their own Tory allies who were not above wearing the stolen uniforms of the dead. Be that as it may, we rode away unhindered, Dick in all the bravery of his captain’s B8lashngs, and I in light- horse buff and blue, taking the road toward the manor house because that was the only one beyond the sight and sound of the victors at the ford. But once at large, we put spurs to our horses in true ritter fashion: and we had galloped half way to Appleby House be- fore Dick said: “Now we are well out of that, what next? We can not go to Margery with the whole British army at our heels.” Nay, but we shall, if only for a short half hour,” I asserted. Then, as once before, 1 gave him my best bow. “For the last time, it may be, let me play the lord of the manor. You are very wel- come to my father's demesne, Richard, and to all of its holdings.” “All”" said he, giving me a quick eye shot as we pressed on side by side. “Yes, all,” said I; and I meant good faith. He should have too; that precious holding of manse without whom my father's acres would be a bauble to be lost or won in- differently. 5 “Then you do not love Madge more?” he queried, his eye kindling. “Nay, 1 did not say that. But I did say the other; that you should have the house and all its holdings.” We were cantering up the oak-sen- tried avenue to that door which Gilbert Stair had once sought to ke!g against us with his bell-mouthed lunderbuss. There was no sign of any living thing about the place; and when we had no answer to our sword-hilt knockings on the door, the lad turned upon me with a flaalh of anger in his eyes and his lip a- curl. “You knew full well what you were promising. he said. “She is not her: CHA R XLIX. IN WHICH A LAWYER HATH HIS FEE. What Richard’s most natural resent- ment would have led to, in what new tangle of the nét of bitterness we might have been enmeshed, we were spared the knowing. For when he said, “She is not here.” two happenings intervened to give us_both other things. to think of. The first was the advent. at the far end of the oak-lined avenug of a troop of British light horse, trotting leisurely; the second was the swinging inward of the door of unwelcome, with old Anthony grinning and bowing behind it. Now when you have fairly surprised a fox in the open, he asks nothing more than a hole to hide in. There were the hunters coming up the avenue; and here was our dodge hole gaping before us. So. as hunted things will, we took earth quickly; though, truly, 'twas an ostrich trick rather than a fox's, since we left the horses standing without to advertise our presence to all and sundry. It was Richard who first found the wit to realize the ostrich play. “The horses! We may as well have left the town crier outside to ring his bell and tell the redcoats we are here,” he would say; and before I knew what he would be at he had snatched the door open and was whistling softly to his big gray. Hearing his master’s call, the gray pricked his ears and came obediently, with the sorrel tagging at his heels. A moment later, when the up-coming troop was hidden by a turn the avenue, we had the pair of them in the hall with the door shut and barred be- hind them. “So far, so good,” quoth Dick. Then to the old black, who had stood by, saucer-eyed and speechless, the while: “Anthony, do you be as big a numbskull as you were born to be, and hold these redcoat gentlemen in palaver till we can win out at the back.” The old majordomo nodded his good will, but now my slow wit came in play. “We've done it now,” sald L “The horses will go out as they came in, or not at all. Had you forgotten the stair at the back?” Judge for yourselves, my dears, if this were the time, place or crisis for a man to fling himself upon the hall settle, grip his ribs and laugh like any lack wit. Yet this is what Richard Jennifer did. It was in the very midst of his gust of ill-timed merriment, while the horses were nosing niftily at their strange sur- roundings, and the hoof strokes of the redcoat troop could be plainly heard on the gravel of the avenue, that I chanced to lift my eyes to the stair. There look- ing down upon us, with speechless as- toundment in the blue-gray eyes, stood our dear lady. Another instant and she was with us, stamping her foot and crying: “Mon Dieu! What is this? Are you gone mad, both of you?" Dick’s answer was another burst of laughter, loud enough. you would think, to be heard by those beyond the door. “Behold four witless brute beasts, Mistress Madge—two horses and two ha said. And then to old An- “Open the door, Tony, and invite the gentlemen in.” But Margery was before him. Ah, my dears, a man's wit is like a matchlock, fizzing and sputtering its way noisily to find the powder while the enemy hath time to ride up and saber the musketeer; but a woman's is like the spark in a tin- derbox—e quick snip of flint and steel and you have your fire. In a flash my lady had torn down the heavy curtains from an inner doorway and was carpet- ing a horse path for to the rear. “Quick!" she cried; “lead them gently, for the love of heaven!™ She went before us., padding the way with whatever came first to hand. rugs, curtains, table-cove: and I know not rwhat beside; and by the time the Brit- ish troopers were hammering at the outer door. we were deep within the old mansion and had made shift to drag the unwilling horses by one and two-step delcen‘ l“ll to a under oul X 72 - = AW\ 2 S 77 ?,;, (A S s