IN WHICH GODFREY PLEADS FOR THE CONDEMNED PRISONERS
Without waiting for an answer, Barnabas jerked the table away and swung
the door partly open. The enemy were on the watch and immediately opened
a hot fire. Two bullets struck Reuben Atwood, and he fell dead across
the threshold. The others dodged back into the heat and smoke, and just
at the critical moment the firing ceased in response to a loud command.
"It's the Tory colonel hisself," exclaimed Barnabas, as he peeped
through a crevice. "He's just arrived, an' there's lots of Royal Greens
along with him."
"Colonel Butler," he added loudly, "we'll surrender, providin' you spare
our lives."
"Come out first, and then we'll talk," the officer shouted back after a
brief pause.
There was hope in the words, and Barnabas and his companions lost no
time in scrambling to their feet. Half-choked, and sweating from every
pore, they stepped over Atwood's dead body and staggered across the
clearing. At sight of the three figures there was a loud murmur of
astonishment.
"Where's the rest?" demanded Simon Glass, as he roughly stripped the
prisoners of their muskets.
"We're all here but one," Barnabas answered, pointing to the doorway,
"an' he's dead."
"I'll send you to join him," snarled Glass, and with that he presented a
gun to the old man's head. But before he could fire, Colonel Butler
knocked the weapon aside.
"You ruffian!" he exclaimed. "Would you shoot a prisoner in cold blood?"
"He deserves it," remonstrated Glass, in an injured tone. "Why, this is
the leader of the rebel band that attacked my party a couple of days
ago, killed four of us, and stole our horses."
"I have nothing to do with that affair," snapped Colonel Butler. "When I
want you to play executioner I'll tell you. Don't interfere again!"
With a scowl Glass slunk away, and for a few moments the officer
scrutinized his three captives in silence. The upper part of the cabin
was now wrapped in flames, and the red glare made the scene as light as
day. Tories and Indians stood grouped in a half-circle, the former with
cold, pitiless faces, while the latter looked ferociously at the
prisoners under their painted cheeks as they gripped their blood-stained
tomahawks and edged nearer with fiendish anticipation. Godfrey, who had
been with the attacking party, was standing to the rear, and his face
alone expressed pity. He blushed as Nathan discovered him and gave him a
quick glance of contempt and defiance.
"You can't expect mercy," Colonel Butler finally said. "Within a few
hours after the surrender you are found here with arms in your
possession--a direct violation of my terms. And you took the offensive,
firing deliberately on a part of my force."
"That's right, Colonel," chimed in Glass. "They shot first. We've six
dead here."
"We were compelled to fire, sir," said Barnabas. "We had no way to
retreat, an' that ruffian yonder told his men not to let one of us
escape."
"Exactly," assented Glass. "But my object was to take you prisoners. I
saw you and your men recover the arms you had hidden in the woods, and I
was justified in following to discover your purpose."
At this Godfrey started to come forward, but changed his mind and
stopped. His face was pale and haggard.
"Man, you lie," cried McNicol, turning to the one-eyed Tory. "You never
saw us get the guns, and you didn't even know we were here till you
reached the cabin. And had we surrendered at the first, every one of us
would have been massacred in cold blood. I know you well, you dirty
traitor."
"Colonel, don't believe that rebel," retorted Glass, with a glance of
fury at McNicol. "The affair happened just as I said."
"Hang the affair!" testily exclaimed the officer. He moved aside for a
moment to converse in a whisper with Captain Caldwell, of the Royal
Greens, and then turned to the prisoners. "My duty is very simple," he
said. "There is but one question at stake. You were found bearing arms
in violation of my terms. You have brought your fate on yourselves, and
now--"
"Sir, would our lives have been safe anywhere in this valley without
fire-arms?" interrupted Barnabas.
Colonel Butler bit his lip with rage. "You rebel dog," he cried, "do you
dare to assert that I can't enforce my own commands? But enough. Captain
Caldwell, a platoon of your men, please. Stand the prisoners out and
shoot them."
Nathan turned pale. Barnabas and McNicol heard the sentence without
moving a muscle. A file of the Royal Greens stepped forward, bringing
their musket butts to earth with a dull clatter. But just as several
Tories laid hold of the victims to place them in position, an
unexpected interference came from Godfrey Spencer.
"Colonel Butler," he exclaimed, "let me speak to you before this goes
any further."
"Stop, you fool," muttered Glass, trying to push the lad back.
"Let me go," Godfrey whispered fiercely. "If you don't, I'll tell all."
"What do you want to say?" asked Colonel Butler. "Oh, it's you,
Lieutenant Spencer!"
"Sir, I beg you to spare these men," pleaded Godfrey. "With justice to
yourself, you can waive the question of their bearing arms, since their
object in coming to the cabin to-night was in no wise contrary to the
terms of the surrender. We came for the same purpose, and the meeting
was accidental. Simon Glass has lied deliberately, and I can vouch for
it that he would have shot the prisoners at once, had they given
themselves up."
Glass ground his teeth with rage, and had looks been able to kill, the
lad must have fallen dead.
"I can't understand this hurried march of your little detachment from
the Jersies to Wyoming," replied Colonel Butler. "You told me you were
sent by Major Langdon, and now I infer that this cabin was connected
with your mission; also, that the prisoners marched from the Jersies
with the same purpose in view. I would like a further explanation."
"That I can't give, sir," Godfrey answered firmly.
"Perhaps you can?" and the Colonel turned to Barnabas.
The old man shook his head. "It's a private matter, sir," he replied,
"an' my lips are sealed. But what this young lieutenant says is all
true."
Colonel Butler looked puzzled and vexed. "Whom did Major Langdon put in
command of the party?" he sharply inquired of Godfrey.
"Simon Glass, sir."
"And why were you--an officer of rank--sent along as a subordinate?"
"I don't know, sir. I don't even know fully the object of the
expedition."
"Glass, you can explain this mystery," exclaimed the Colonel, losing
patience.
"Sir, would you have me betray my trust?" demanded Glass, with
well-feigned indignation. "You saw my papers yesterday. You know that
they are signed by Major Langdon, and that I am acting under his
orders."
"And under mine as well, sir," replied the Colonel, with a frown. "There
can be no independent commands while I have control here. Come, we'll
drop the question of Major Langdon's authority. I want you to do some
work for me to-morrow. You are just the man for it, and you can have the
force you led out of the fort when my back was turned."
"I am at your service, sir," Glass replied in a mollified tone.
The Colonel nodded. "You may as well camp here for the balance of the
night, and start early in the morning. Scour the whole upper part of the
valley, and burn every cabin and house to its foundations."
A wicked smile showed how well pleased the ruffian was with his orders.
"How about the prisoners, sir?" he asked carelessly.
"The sentence stands," Colonel Butler replied grimly. "I will give them
a few hours to prepare for death. Hang or shoot them at daybreak."
"I can't entertain your appeal," he added, to Godfrey. "Your arguments
do not mitigate the fact that these rebels were found in arms. I must do
my duty."
In spite of Glass's angry and threatening looks Godfrey made a second
attempt to save the prisoners, but Colonel Butler cut him short in a
manner that forbade further appeal. The officer was in an ugly mood, for
his natural curiosity to solve the mystery connected with the cabin had
been baffled. But matters of more importance demanded his immediate
presence at the fort, and without delay he marched off at the head of
the Royal Greens.
Glass's first act after the departure of Colonel Butler was to search
Nathan thoroughly from head to foot, and the lad submitted with an air
of surprise that was more feigned than real; by this time he had an
inkling of what it all meant.
The ruffian could hardly conceal his disappointment when he
failed to find what he wanted. He proceeded to search McNicol and
Barnabas--luckily omitting the latter's boots--and then he reviled the
prisoners with the most bitter taunts and insults his brutal mind could
invent.
Nathan lost his temper and answered back, thereby receiving a cruel blow
in the face; but Barnabas and McNicol stoically endured the shower of
abuse. None of the three showed any sign of fear, though they knew they
were to die in the morning, and their courage might well have won
admiration and pity from a more chivalrous foe. But Simon Glass's
half-dozen Tory comrades--who numbered among them the survivors of the
squadron of dragoons--were as brutal and degraded as himself. The rest
of the force were Indians, and mercy or pity could have been better
expected from a pack of panthers than from these blood-thirsty Senecas.
The ruffian finally wearied of his pastime and walked toward the cabin,
which was now nearly consumed. After watching the dying blaze for a
moment he returned.
"How soon will those ruins be cool?" he asked of one of his companions.
"I should judge in about two or three hours," the man replied.
Glass looked pleased. "We'd better be turning in," he continued, "for we
must take an early start in the morning. We'll hang the rebels before we
go. Bring them over yonder now."
He led the way to a thicket of low bushes that stood on the near bank of
the spring. In the centre of the thicket were three saplings, and to
these the prisoners were secured in a sitting position, with their arms
fastened behind them and their backs turned to one another. Having seen
that the work was done thoroughly, Glass departed.
"You'd better be praying, you rebels," he said, in a sneering tone, "for
your necks will stretch at the first light of dawn."
The night was very warm and the Tories and Indians stretched themselves
in groups amid the thick grass that carpeted the clearing. A sentry was
posted on guard at the thicket, and as he paced to and fro with loaded
musket the upper part of his body was visible to the captives. They
could see no others of the party for the bushes, but the silence
indicated that all were asleep. Godfrey had kept in the background after
Colonel Butler's departure, either for the purpose of shunning Glass or
to avoid those he had vainly tried to befriend.
There was no hope of escape, and for a while the wretched little group
talked in whispers, each nobly endeavoring to cheer and comfort the
others. None had rested much on the previous night, and finally Barnabas
and McNicol fell asleep.
Nathan was now alone with his thoughts, and in the face of death his
fortitude almost deserted him, and his mind yielded to bitter anguish.
He lived the past over again--his boyhood days here in the valley, his
years at college in Philadelphia, and then the string of terrible
events that had begun with the loss of his father on Monmouth
battle-field. But amid the conflicting thoughts that distressed him the
memory of Godfrey's strange words was uppermost.
"What can it mean?" the lad asked himself. "Is it possible that Major
Langdon sent Simon Glass here to find and steal these papers? He heard
my father tell me where they were, but why would he want to get them? It
is a deep mystery--one too incredible to be true!"
Vainly the lad puzzled himself, and at last he fell into a restless
sleep. A couple of hours later he awoke with a start, realizing at once
where he was, and dreading to find that dawn had come. The moon was far
down and under a bank of clouds, and the cabin had long ago burnt itself
out to the last spark. But, from the direction of the ruins, floated a
dull noise and the sound of low voices.
"Barnabas, are you awake?" Nathan whispered.
"Yes, lad," muttered the old man, and as he spoke McNicol opened his
eyes and twisted his cramped body.
Before more could be said the bushes rustled, and a dusky figure
shouldering a musket crept softly into the thicket. Godfrey--for it was,
indeed, he--put a finger to his lips. "Hush!" he whispered. "I've come
to save you. All are sleeping, except Glass and four of the Indians.
They're poking about in the ashes of the cabin, and we must get away
before they return. I am going with you, for my life is equally in
danger."
He stooped down with a knife in one hand, and quickly severed the cords
that held the prisoners. "Now come," he added. "Look where you step, and
don't even breathe loudly."
Nathan and his friends rose, trembling with joy, and almost doubting the
reality of their good fortune. But they knew by what extreme caution
safety must be won, and as noiselessly as shadows they trailed their
sore and stiffened bodies behind Godfrey to the farther edge of the
thicket.
The young officer had thought out his plans beforehand, and with a
warning gesture he stepped into the spring at the point where it became
a narrow rivulet, and brawled its course swiftly across the lower corner
of the clearing. The others followed, and the murmur of the waters
drowned what slight noise was unavoidable.
Now came the critical moment. With anxious hearts the fugitives waded
slowly down the stream, crouching low beneath the fringe of tall grass
that concealed, on both sides, the sleeping forms of Tories and Indians.
On and on they went amid unbroken silence, and at last the dense foliage
of the wood closed over them like an arch. They had safely passed the
limits of the camp. They waded twenty yards further, and then stepped on
land.
Godfrey handed his musket to Barnabas. "You know the country," he
whispered. "Lead as you think best."
"We'll make a wide detour back of the fort," Barnabas replied, "an' then
come around to the river at the lower end of the valley."
On a brisk trot they started toward the northwest, and as they hurried
along the forest trails that the old woodsman chose, Godfrey briefly
told what all were anxious to know.
"I got awake a bit ago," he said, "and heard Glass instructing four of
the worst Indians to tomahawk you people just before daylight. They were
to kill me at the same time, and pretend it was done by mistake. That
was to be Glass's revenge for what I said to-night. I remained perfectly
still, pretending to be asleep, and when Glass and the Indians went over
to the cabin, I decided all at once what to do. I told the sentry I had
been ordered to relieve him, and he handed over his musket without a
word. He was asleep in two minutes, and my way was clear."
Barnabas and McNicol warmly thanked the lad, and Nathan impulsively
clasped his hand.
"I hope we are friends again, Godfrey," he said. "I will never forget
what you did to-night."
"I will do more, if I ever get the chance," Godfrey answered. "But I
can't explain now--wait until we are certain of freedom."
By this time the fugitives were a mile from the enemy's camp, and before
they had gone twenty yards further a faint outcry behind them told them
that their escape was discovered. All now depended on speed, for it was
certain that the Indians, by the aid of torches, would follow the trail
with the unerring keenness of blood-hounds.
Barnabas led the little party at a steady pace, taking them several
miles to the rear of the fort before he turned parallel with the river.
Now they headed for the lower end of the valley, and for nearly three
hours, while they traversed the lonely and gloomy forest, they heard no
sound but the chirp of night-birds and the distant cries of prowling
wild animals.
"I can't keep this up much longer," panted Nathan. "The Indians may be
close behind, but for my part I believe they've lost the trail."
"Mebbe so, lad," replied Barnabas, "though the quietness ain't an
indication of it. We're all badly winded, but the river ain't far off
now. Onct we git across, or find a boat--"
The rest of the sentence was drowned by one blood-curdling whoop that
rang with awful shrillness through the silent wood. Another and another
followed, and the glimmer of a torch was seen coming over a knoll at a
furlong's space behind the fugitives.
"The Senecas are hot on the trail!" cried Barnabas, "an' their keen ears
have heard us. On for the river! It's our last chance!"