The Rider of the Black Horse/Chapter 22
CHAPTER XXII
IN PERIL
Soon after the leader had disappeared he returned to the barn, and stopping in front of the place where Robert was tied said to him, "Now, young man, I'm going to give you one more chance. We 've got your friend Jacob all ready to swing from a tree in front of his old tavern, an' we 've got you here where you 'll be able to report just how hot a barn is when it's on fire. Will you tell me where that letter is?"
Robert Dorlon gazed into the face of the cowboy, and for a moment did not speak. He could feel that the color had fled from his own face, and the expression on that of Claudius Brown was terrifying. The brutality, cruelty, and anger that were stamped there were only too apparent, and Robert was but too well assured that he would not easily escape from the clutches of this man. It was still impossible, however, for him to believe that even such a villain as Brown certainly was would carry out his threat. It was true the blazing ruins of Jacob's tavern afforded ample evidence that he was capable of dastardly work, but the threat he was now making to Robert seemed to be beyond the limits of even such villainy as his. Besides, he had given his word that as long as he was alive the letter that had been intrusted to him should not fall into the hands of the enemy.
Resolutely, though his knees trembled while he spoke, he looked into the face of Claudius Brown and said, "I 've told you the truth."
"Where is that letter?" shouted Claudius Brown again.
"I have n't it."
"Where is it?"
"I can't tell you."
"You will tell me! Take your choice. I 'll set the barn on fire and string up your sneaking friend, or you 'll tell me where that letter is."
For a moment almost beside himself with anger and fear, Robert struggled desperately at the cords that held him; but the work had been well done and he was helpless. A smile appeared on the face of the man before him as he watched the futile struggle, and then turning sharply to the man near him he said, "Burn up the old trap and the rat in it!"
Without waiting to see that his order was obeyed he departed from the barn.
Slowly the cowboy drew forth his flint and tinder and apparently prepared to obey the command of the leader. Not even yet was Robert able to believe that Claudius Brown's words would be literally carried out, but he was nevertheless watching every movement of the man, who had scraped together a pile of loose hay near the side of the barn.
"You 're not going to set fire to that!" said Robert in low tones.
The man nodded his head but did not speak, and continued his preparations.
"Now, look here!" said Robert more sharply. "You understand what this is you 're doing, don't you? Suppose you do burn me up, what good will it do you? You 'll be found out, for when I don't report they 'll know something has happened to me, and they 'll look it up, too."
The man was kneeling before the pile now, but he hesitated a moment, glanced up at the helpless prisoner, and then without a word took up his flint and tinder from the floor beside him.
It was evident to Robert now that it was no idle threat which Claudius Brown had made, and that his words were to be obeyed literally. A great fear swept over him, and in an agony of terror he shouted: "Don't do that! I beg of you, don't do it! Just think what it is you 're doing! Suppose you were here in my place. Suppose you were tied here as I am. Cut this strap if you 're bound to set fire to the barn! Give me one chance to get away! Don't, don't leave me here! I 'll pay you, I 'll pay you well for it! Claud Brown's money won't be half as much as I 'll see that you get. If you leave me here you won't get a farthing from him or from anybody else. If you let me go, if you 'll cut these straps, you 'll be more than twice as well off. Don't do it! Don't do it! I beg of you, don't do it!"
The man looked up from his place, gazed steadily at Robert, and then without speaking struck a spark which fell upon the tinder, and in a moment there was a little curl of smoke and then a tiny blaze could be seen in the bottom of the pile. Robert began once more to strain desperately upon the cords that held him. There still might be a chance that he would be released before the barn was in a blaze, but the fear in his heart now was almost beyond control. Despite his efforts the straps held firmly, though he pulled upon them till his wrists were bleeding. Apparently the man gave him no thought, for he remained kneeling until he was positive that the fire was well started, and then he arose and walking to the doorway stood peering out as if he was waiting for some signal or the return of the leader.
The blaze was beginning to crackle and the smoke was carried all about the barn now, and Robert could see that the fire was beginning to creep up the side and spread out on the floor toward him. For a moment he ceased struggling and watched the creeping flames almost as if he had no direct interest in them.
The man now turned and, glancing first at the spreading fire and then at his helpless prisoner, placed his finger in his mouth and whistled shrilly.
In response to his call Claudius Brown himself came running swiftly to the barn, but before he entered he stopped abruptly, for there was a sudden shout from the man whom he had left, and a moment later a band of a dozen or more men ran swiftly toward the burning barn. The leader glanced keenly at them, and then, darting into the barn and drawing his knife, quickly severed the straps that bound Robert's hands, and said savagely, "Not a word of this! Don't you lisp a word about what has happened here or it 'll be the worse for you!"
There was no opportunity for Robert to reply, for he swiftly darted from the barn, his eyes smarting from the effect of the smoke and his eagerness to escape overpowering every other consideration. In the yard before the barn, however, he quickly stopped, for he instantly perceived that the new-comers were a band of redcoats, and there was a young lieutenant in command.
Evidently the officer was known to Claudius Brown, for he said sharply, "What's this, Brown?"
Before the leader responded, Robert glanced all about him eager to find some opening by which he might escape, but such an attempt would be hopeless, for the men were armed and he would be quickly overtaken. Instantly he darted into the barn again, and seizing the hat which had been lying neglected on the floor he dashed out once more, and stood quietly in the presence of the men, who had scarcely noticed his actions in the intense excitement that prevailed.
As he once more appeared Claudius Brown seized him by the shoulder, and he was compelled to follow, as all the men withdrew from the presence of the barn where the heat was becoming intense. As they came out into the road Robert could see that there were a half dozen more of the redcoats, and they were bending over some object of interest on the ground in front of the smoking ruins of the tavern.
"The man's alive," said some one, looking up as the officer approached.
"Who is he? What is he?"
"I'll tell you who he is," said Brown, stepping forward as he spoke. "He's Jake Gunning, that's who he is. He kept this tavern, and he won't do it again. He's a low down Whig, and his place here was a reg'lar meetin' place for all th' low down men like him. This fellow"—and as he spoke Brown shook Robert by the shoulder upon which his hold had not relaxed—"is an express from the rebels, an' he's stopped more'n once here at Jake's, but he won't do it again."
For a moment the young officer stared at the cowboy, and then without replying he pressed forward and bent low over the prostrate form of the man on the ground whom with a start Robert perceived to be Jacob himself. The cowboys, then, had indeed carried out their threat, and the landlord had suffered at their hands as Claudius Brown had promised. The sun was low in the western sky, but the blazing barn and still burning house threw a light all about the place that made everything distinct and plain. Not since the war had begun had the sight of the redcoats been a welcome one to Robert Dorlon, but now as he looked about him he rejoiced in their coming almost as if they had been friends. At least they would be protectors against the brutality of the unscrupulous gang of which Claudius Brown was the leader, and if he must fail on his errand, Robert was convinced that his failure would be less bitter if he was taken by the redcoats rather than left in the power of the merciless gang of cowboys. Besides, it was evident that Claudius Brown himself was in some fear of the young officer, who plainly knew him, and there was hope also in that fact. But even these things were for the moment ignored as he leaned forward eager to learn how it fared with Jacob Gunning.
In a moment the young lieutenant arose and said, "He 'll be all right in a little while." Then turning to Claudius Brown, he said sternly, "Did you hang him there on that tree, as the men say you did?"
"Well, what if I did? What of it, anyway?" retorted Claudius Brown.
"That will be for Sir Henry to say. Why did you do it?"
"He would n't tell where th' letter was. We were n't goin' t' do more'n twist him a little. We should n't 'a' hurt him. We wanted t' make him own up." The leader's tones and manner had changed, and it was evident that he had no desire to increase the suspicions or anger of the officer.
"What letter?" demanded the lieutenant.
"The letter this man was carryin' t' General Clinton."
"General Clinton?" exclaimed the lieutenant in manifest surprise.
"Th' rebel gen'ral, not Sir Henry."
"Oh, yes, I see. Are you the express? Has this man told the truth?" said the lieutenant to Robert.
"Yes, sir, I suppose he has," replied Robert, who was convinced that his better course would be not to attempt to conceal his identity.
"You don't look like very much of an express," said the lieutenant, smiling dryly as he glanced at the young man's tattered garments.
"I did n't look this way three hours ago."
"Did you bring a letter?"
"I had one, yes, sir," replied Robert quickly, "but because I would n't tell this villain," and he glared at Claudius Brown as he spoke, "to whom I had given it, he cut all my clothes into tatters and then set fire to Jacob's tavern, and not satisfied with that, tied me up in the barn, set fire to it, and hanged Jacob on the tree, where I take it you or your men found him."
"Did you do that? Take your hands off the man!" said the lieutenant to Brown.
"He would n't own up where the letter was. I'd had orders from somebody I don't think even you'd care to dispute." In spite of his manner, it was evident that the leader stood in some fear of what the officer might say or do. "I tried ev'ry way t' get 'em to own up peaceable, but they would n't do it."
"Quite likely," said the young officer dryly. "So you set fire to their buildings and tried to hang the man, did you?"
"I set fire t' th' tavern 'n th' barn. 'T was a nest o' snakes anyway, but I did n't intend t' kill either one o' th' men. I was goin' t' scare 'em into ownin' up where th' letter was."
"You people in the colonies beat me," said the young officer quietly. "I did n't want to come over here to fight men of my own race, and sometimes I wish I had stood out, as some of my friends did, and not come at all. That was why King George had to get Hessian troops to send over, for his own subjects did n't want to fight, especially when a good many of them thought the colonies were not all wrong either. But that's neither here nor there. I'm a good subject of his Majesty King George, God bless him,—and I don't believe in rebellion anyway, though I may not like the job of helping to put it down. But what beats me is, when I land in America, to find that the very worst and most bitter men are Americans. Why, you could n't find a man in the whole British army who would treat the rebels as you have just served these men—they may be your own friends and neighbors, for all I know. We can't do anything more here, and this man is coming around all right," he added, as he glanced at the burning buildings and then at Jacob Gunning, who now was sitting erect.
"Ye 're on yer way to Esopus, are n't ye, Lieutenant?" inquired Claudius Brown.
"Yes. Are you going, too?" responded the lieutenant suspiciously.
"We will if ye want us to. Ye 're to wait for the others down here to th' forks o' the road, are n't ye?"
"Yes. How did you know that?"
"Never ye mind," laughed Claudius Brown, plainly rejoiced to be restored to the good graces of the officer. "We 'll go 'long anyway with ye. I s'pose ye 'll take this man 'long?" he inquired, indicating Robert as he spoke.
"Yes. There is n't any use in searching him any more for the letter. You 've done that well. There is n't a spot as big as shilling left of his clothes."
"Ye 're right, th' isn't," laughed Brown. "The other man, what 'll ye do with him?"
"Leave him here. He will be all right soon and can look after himself. He's not a soldier and this man is," and he nodded at Robert as he spoke.