I RUN ACROSS ERIC
I slept three hours, the dead sleep of sheer exhaustion, but felt
refreshed and strong when roughly aroused. Before sunset I was across the
river, where I found my little squad of Dragoons prepared for their
night's adventure. Arnold had kept his word, the fresh horses being fine
animals, the ammunition in excess of our needs. Conroy was enthusiastic,
and somewhat loquacious, but I cut his conversation off rather sharply,
and ordered the men into their saddles. With brain clarified by sleep I
realized the importance of the work before us, and how imperfect my plans
were. I could merely ride forth to Elmhurst, hoping to pick up some clew
to aid me. As we rode rapidly along the deserted road leading to Farrel's
I reviewed over and over again every remembered detail, only to conclude
that I must get hands on Grant, and by threats, or any other available
means, compel him to confess his part in the villainy. Dusk settled about
us, succeeded by night, as we pressed steadily forward, the men riding
silently, the only sound the thud of hoofs, and the slight jingle of
accoutrements. As we passed the black walls of Farrell's shop, I recalled
the papers found in Grant's coat, and the reference in Fagin's note to a
rendezvous at Lone Tree. Probably that was the spot where the two had
been accustomed to meeting. If true in the past, why not now as well?
Suddenly it occurred to me that it was at a place called Lone Tree that
the minute men had gathered for their attack on Delavan's wagon train.
Could this, by any possibility, be the same spot? I drew my horse back
beside Conroy.
"Ever heard of a place called Lone Tree?" I asked quietly.
He rubbed his head thoughtfully.
"Not just about here, sir. We camped over east of there once, maybe a
year ago, down in a hollow where there was one big tree standin' all
alone, kind of an odd lookin' tree, sir, and seems to me, the guide said
the place was called something like that. Say, Tom," to the nearest
Dragoon, "do you remember that Lone Tree where we camped when we were out
huntin' Tarleton?"
"Sure; in east of Medford. There was a farmhouse across on the side of a
hill. I got some buttermilk there."
"Wasn't that what the guide called the place--Lone Tree?"
"Derned if I know, Sergeant. Don't recollect hearin' the guide say
anythin' 'bout that, but the woman at the house told me her place was
called Lone Tree Cottage--so I reckon he might."
This was a chance worth trying, and would require a detour of but a few
miles. My decision was made quickly.
"We will take the first turn to the left, and have a look at the place,"
I said. "Conroy, you and Tom ride ahead, and keep your eyes open."
We reached the hollow where the big tree stood, about midnight, but found
little reward. The house on the hill had been burned to the ground. Near
the tree, however, we discovered evidence of recent camp-fires, one not
yet cold, and apparently there had been quite a body of men camped there
lately. Conroy manufactured a torch, and scouted about, finally
reporting:
"I don't know how many were here, sir, altogether, but there was a lot o'
horses picketed over near the creek. I reckon the last of them didn't
leave until dark to-night, an' they rode north toward the main road.
There was maybe a dozen in that party."
We followed the general direction the fellows seemed to have taken,
Conroy and I on foot, scanning the trail by aid of a pine knot. The dust
lay thick on the clay road through the cut, where we had charged the
foragers, and it was easy to see the band had turned east. There was but
one conclusion possible; if this was Fagin's gang of cutthroats, as I
suspected, then they were either returning to their sand caves in
Monmouth County after a raid, or else were starting forth on some new
project near at hand. Whichever was true, Elmhurst lay in the direction
taken. Determined to learn the truth, and wishing now I had more men at
my back, we pressed forward, riding rapidly, yet exercising the
precaution of keeping two scouts well in advance. It must have been
nearly three o'clock when we reached the summit of the low hill within a
few hundred yards of the house, and found the two scouts awaiting us.
My first glance across the ravine revealed the outlines of the house
above the low trees of the orchard. All appeared peaceable enough, and I
felt a sudden relief. There were lights burning on the lower floor,
streaming through several windows, while up stairs one window was ablaze.
Late as it was, this illumination was not surprising, however, as the
care of the wounded man would necessitate night watchers, while, no
doubt, Claire would anticipate my reaching there before morning. All this
flashed over me, as my eyes hastily surveyed the familiar surroundings.
Then I became aware that the older scout was reporting.
"There's quite a bunch of horses picketed down there in the ravine, sir,"
he said, pointing toward the right.
"How many?"
"Oh, maybe twenty-five or thirty; Joe an' I couldn't get very close as
there's a couple of men on guard on top of the bank. A hundred feet down
you can see 'em plain against the sky."
"Wasn't what you saw a cattle herd?"
"No, sir," positively. "They're horses, picketed in line like a cavalry
troop, and they've got their saddles on."
What this all meant could not be guessed at, but there must be some
scheme of deviltry under way. There were no regular troops hereabout
belonging to either army, yet the very condition of the country left an
open field for the operation of outlaws. Arnold had barely men enough to
garrison Philadelphia; Washington was facing Clinton; the militia had
been withdrawn, and all this section left entirely unguarded. It was the
very moment for Fagin and his kind to carry on their work of murder and
pillage.
"Have either of you crossed the ravine?" I asked, endeavoring to reach
some conclusion.
"Yes, sir, Joe did. He was up in the edge of the orchard."
"See any men?"
"Not a man, sir, outside," answered the other. "But I saw shadows against
the curtains on that lower floor. I couldn't tell how many; they just
come an' go, only they wasn't dressed alike."
One thing was sufficiently certain--we could gain little information
remaining where we were.
"Sergeant," I said, determining swiftly on a course of action, "take your
men, dismounted, across the ravine, and into the orchard. Keep under
cover, but get as close to the house as you can safely. Picket your
horses back there beside the road."
"And you, sir?"
"I'll take Tom with me, and we'll circle that horse herd, and come up to
the house from the rear. I want to discover where those fellows are, and
what they are up to. See this whistle, sergeant?"
"Yes, sir."
"It gives a sharp, shrill blast. If I blow it twice, get your men inside
the house instantly. I'll not sound it unless I need you at once. We'll
wait here until you get across."
They disappeared into the black depths of the ravine, moving cautiously
and with little noise, Conroy leading, the others stringing along behind
in single file. Tom led back the horses while I watched, until convinced
they had attained the opposite bank, and the shelter of the orchard.
There was no sound of movement anywhere, yet it was not long until
daybreak, and any further delay was dangerous. As soon as the Dragoon
returned, I gave him a few words of instruction, and the two of us
plunged down the steep slope, feeling our way through the darkness, but
moving to the right, toward where the scouts had indicated the horses
were being herded. We skirted these, creeping along the opposite bank
behind a fringe of bushes, certain that the darkness concealed our
movements from the two men on guard. Fearful of frightening the animals
we dare not approach close enough to count them, but they stood head to
head to a picket rope nearly across the narrow ravine. We crossed fifty
feet above, gained the top of the bank, and crawled down, sheltered from
observation, until we were directly above the two guards. Peering
cautiously over we could easily distinguish the black outlines on the
hillside below.
One man was standing up, leaning against the trunk of a small tree, while
the other was sitting on the ground, his head bent forward, and his hat
drawn low over his eyes. Neither uttered a sound, but as my eyes strained
through the darkness I began to perceive details which awakened a new
suspicion. The fellow standing up wore a cap and no coat, and his hands
were clasped about a short, sawed-off gun. He had none of the appearance
of a soldier, but the other man apparently was in uniform, although I
could not distinguish its character. What instantly attracted my
attention was the fact that his hands were evidently tied behind his
back. If this was true then he was a prisoner, and the other had been
stationed there to guard him, and not the horses. Tom perceived this as
soon as I, for I felt his fingers grip my arm, and, when I glanced around
at him, he pictured his suspicions in pantomime. I nodded agreement,
sinking down behind the ridge, until my lips were at his ear.
"Creep around the edge of the rock there," I said, pointing. "That will
bring you at his back, and not more than five feet away. Can you do it?"
He nodded grimly.
"Leave your weapons here," I added, "and when you spring, get hold of his
gun so he cannot fire. I'll cover him the instant you strike. Go on."
He unbuckled his belt, and crept along to the right, so noiselessly that
even I, watching his snake-like movement, could hear no sound. The guard
did not move his head, and the other remained motionless, his face bent
almost to his knees. Down below the horses stomped restlessly, and
switched their tails. Watching each motion like a hawk, I saw Tom dip
over the crest, and worm his way down behind the rock. Then he
disappeared, until, as he cautiously arose to his feet, his head and
shoulders emerged shadowy just beyond. Realizing he was ready, I got to
my knees, gripping a pistol butt. Without a warning sound the Dragoon
leaped, his arms gripping the astounded sentinel with the hug of a bear.
He gave utterance to one grunt, and then the barrel of my pistol was at
his head.
"Not a word!" I said sternly. "Unclasp his belt, Tom. Yes, take his gun.
If he moves, or utters a sound, shoot him down."
I wheeled to face the other, who had lifted his head, and was staring at
us through the darkness. He was no longer a mere shapeless shadow, but a
slender, straight figure, and my heart gave a sudden throb.
"Who are you?" I asked sharply. "Eric Mortimer?"
"Yes," he answered, in evident surprise. "Do I know you?"
"No," and I cut the rope binding his ankles. "But I was searching for
you. I am an officer of Maxwell's brigade; my name is Lawrence. Tell me
first what has happened,--why you are being held prisoner."
He stretched his cramped arms and legs, lifting his hat so that I saw his
face dimly. In the gloom his resemblance to Claire was so remarkable that
I involuntarily exclaimed:
"Heavens! but you look like your sister!"
"Like Claire! they all say so; you know her?"
"It is at her request I am here; you need not fear to tell me your
story."
"Oh, I do not. I can see your uniform. But damn it, I don't know any too
much about what is up myself. This is Red Fagin's outfit."
"I thought so. Where did he get you? How long have you been a prisoner?"
The boy laughed recklessly, his eyes upon the others.
"Well, my story is a short one, Lawrence. I had a fellow in the British
service who occasionally gave me information. Word came to me to meet him
at a certain spot--"
"You mean Captain Grant?"
"Hell! How did you know that?"
"Never mind; I do know--so you can go on."
He hesitated, as though suspicious of me, yet finally resumed.
"I had no intention of speaking names."
"Oh, let that pass. You may think Grant all right, but the rest of us
know he is at the bottom of the whole matter."
"You mean he betrayed me?"
"There is no doubt of it. He is in with Fagin."
The lad drew a long breath.
"I half suspected it," he said slowly, "only it didn't seem possible. Now
listen, and perhaps together we can make something out of all this. I
went to the place where we were to meet, and had a talk with Grant--yes,
it was Grant all right. He told me some things, but needed a day or two
to get other information. While waiting I came over here to Elmhurst, and
found Claire. She's the kind of a girl you can tell things to, and I
wrote out what I had learned, and left some of my papers. Then I went
back to Lone Tree. It was dark when I got there, and I rode right into
Fagin and three of his men. They had me before I could lift a hand."
"Just wait a minute, Mortimer," I broke in, becoming suddenly aware there
was a grayness in the eastern sky. "I want to creep in toward the house
while it remains dark. You can tell the rest as we go along. Tom, take
these ropes and tie your man up. Make him safe, and then come along after
us."
"All right, sir. I'll fix the lad so he'll be safe enough for a while."