HOW JASON COLLYER CAME TO THE “PLOW AND HARROW”
Once he had gotten the candle-light well out of his eyes, Ezra found
that the darkness was not quite as thick as he had supposed.
“All of which suits my purpose very well,” he told himself, well
pleased.
He had no idea of proceeding any great distance in the direction in
which he was heading. He had promised to meet Ben Cooper at the place
where the church tower reared itself above the tree-tops toward
Chelmsford; and this he determined to do.
“If I fail to keep my promise, Ben will begin to imagine all sorts of
things,” mused Ezra. “And, also, I’ll need to talk over this matter with
him before I do anything.”
He rode along until his horse’s hoofs sounded hollowly upon the timbers
of the bridge.
“The sound will no doubt reach the house,” he muttered, “and perhaps
they will be listening for it.”
In the middle of the bridge he wheeled his steed and slowly recrossed;
then dismounting he led the animal into the woods and struck out upon a
course parallel with the road. The way was much darker here because of
the overhang of the trees; he was compelled to proceed with the utmost
care in order to avoid accidents.
“I said you had eyes like an owl, old fellow,” said he to the bay. “Now
prove that I did not overpraise you; for a misstep means, perhaps, a
broken leg.”
And the horse, as though in answer, stepped gingerly along, his mane
brushing Ezra’s shoulder, and his nose pointed toward the ground. In a
short time they arrived opposite the house of Abdallah; the mastiffs
must either have got scent of, or heard them. At any rate they broke
into a tremendous barking.
Now Ezra spoke to the bay and it stopped. His hand sought the long
pistol in the holster and his eyes were fixed upon the dark, silent
house across the road.
Then the door opened and a flare of light shot out upon the neglected
garden. Abdallah appeared in the doorway, and behind him was Jason
Collyer with a shaded candle in his hand.
The Oriental spoke sharply to the clamoring brutes and they instantly
subsided. Some words passed between the two men, and then both went in;
and the door was closed and all was darkness and stillness once more.
Ezra waited a while; then, as the dogs appeared to be silenced for good,
he spoke to the horse and once more started on. Almost immediately the
dogs recommenced their barking and once more the boy brought the bay to
a halt. With his hand upon the pistol he watched the house, expecting
the door to open. But this time it did not, and the mastiffs made the
night echo with their uproar.
“It would seem that they are now tied up,” said Ezra after a little. “It
is a lucky thing for me that Abdallah was so minded. Otherwise I would
have had them at my throat before this.”
Again he spoke to the horse and they proceeded upon their way through
the trees. The mastiffs grew all but frantic in their ravings; but still
no sign came from the house.
“I suppose the owners of such beasts grow accustomed to their noise in
time,” thought the lad. “And in that I am fortunate, too; for if
Abdallah and his friends had taken it into their heads to make a search,
they must have surely found me.”
About a hundred yards beyond the house he ventured into the road. As
this was soft and he walked the horse, no sound of hoofs was heard. It
was a good half mile farther on that he got into the saddle, and
gathered up the reins with a breath of satisfaction.
“Now for the hamlet with the church tower,” he said, and he touched the
bay with the spur and went loping down the dark wagonway.
There were stars in the sky, but no moon; a faint sheen filtered through
to the earth, and as the road was of a light-colored soil, the boy could
trace it faintly as it stretched on ahead of him. From among the trees
that still continued to line the way, there came the mysterious shadows
and sounds of the night; but Ezra Prentiss was not a lad to give such
things much heed, but went plodding steadily on, his eyes bent keenly
ahead, his whole attention given to making his destination in as short a
time as possible.
A number of times he fancied that he caught dull, indefinite sounds in
his rear; indeed, he once drew in his horse and listened. But as nothing
more followed, he credited the noises to the whispering voice of the
night, and so rode on.
At length he came to a place where the timber had been cleared away;
fences were erected and the ground broken by the plow. Off to the left
was a small group of houses, and above them, strongly marked against the
background of stars, was the church tower that he had pointed out to
Ben.
“Plowed ground is slow traveling,” he said to himself as he slipped from
the saddle, “but as I don’t know the roads hereabouts, it’s the best I
can do.”
But as luck would have it, he found a place in the fence where the rails
could be slipped.
“A gate,” said the boy, well pleased. “Well, that can mean only one
thing; there’s a path hereabouts, somewhere.”
He mounted once more and gave the horse its head. In a moment it had
picked out the path, invisible to Ezra, and went plodding along with
lowered head. This led across some half dozen fields; at each fence Ezra
was forced to get down and lower the bars. At length he found himself in
the midst of what seemed a level green. There were scattered houses all
about, their windows cheerfully lighted; the doors of some of them stood
open, for the night was not unpleasant.
“And there is my old acquaintance, the church,” said Ezra, as he noted a
large lantern swinging over a doorway. “And judging from the people
passing in, there is a service going forward.”
He led his horse across the green and finally encountered a man bearing
a lantern.
“I ask your pardon, sir,” said the boy, “but is there any place of
public entertainment in this village?”
“There is,” replied the man with the light. “Directly before you—where
you see the door standing open—is the ‘Plow and Harrow.’”
“I thank you,” said Ezra.
He made his way to the place indicated. It was a two-storied,
clean-looking place with a sanded floor, polished oaken tables and a
stout, white-aproned landlord.
A thin man, with a straw in his mouth, took the horse, and Ezra entered
the inn. At once his eye fell upon Ben Cooper, seated at a table, with a
rasher of bacon and a dish of eggs before him.
“Hello,” said Ben, pausing in his attack on the provisions. “You’ve got
here at last, have you? I’d almost given up hope of you for the night,
and so ordered my supper.”
“And very good it looks,” said Ezra, regarding hungrily the bacon, the
eggs, the huge white loaf and the great square of golden butter.
The stout landlord approached, wiping his hands upon his apron. He
smiled in a pleased fashion at Ezra’s words.
“Can I bring you some, young gentleman?” asked he, good-humoredly. “The
bacon is most excellent. It has just the faintest tang of the smoke in
it, and that adds vastly to its flavor. The eggs are fresh laid; the
bread is our own baking, and the butter of this countryside is the best
in all the colony, perhaps.”
“How could I say no, after that?” laughed Ezra. “As you put it, it is
really fascinating. But first I’ll have some water, a towel and soap.”
In a little while, freshened up with these latter articles, he was
seated opposite Ben, with the wholesome food before him and doing it the
justice that its excellent qualities deserved.
“I don’t know how you found it,” said Ben, as their meal proceeded, “but
the people along the road I took are heart and soul with the colony.
Almost everywhere, I heard of men settling their affairs that they might
be off to the army.”
“That’s good news,” said Ezra. “Settling their affairs, eh? Very likely,
then, what I heard General Ward say about a week ago is pretty close to
the truth. Speaking of the many desertions, he said that very likely
they were caused by the men having been called away from home at a
moment’s notice to repulse the Lexington column. No one had time to make
preparations; some left their families without even a good-bye, others
were known to have mounted their plow horses, leaving the plows in the
field.”
“The circulars, which I read and distributed, seemed to touch the right
spot,” said Ben Cooper. “The people seemed to realize that if they let
the army under Gage get the better of them now, their liberties would be
gone forever. All are patriots in this section.”
Ezra made no answer to this, but went on with his supper. There was an
expression upon his face, however, that caught Ben’s attention; the
latter gazed curiously at his friend for a moment and then asked:
“What is it? Come now, don’t deny that you’ve got news of some sort.
When you take on that look, I’m sure that something has happened.”
Ezra smiled.
“This time,” said he, “you are right. Something has happened.” He leaned
across the table and lowered his voice. “You say that all in this
section are patriots. But I have found a nest of British spies right in
the heart of it.”
Ben stared at him.
“There are Tories everywhere,” said he, at length.
“I am not speaking of Tories,” said Ezra, “but of what looks like a
regularly organized system of British espionage.”
Then he related his experiences to Ben, who sat in round-eyed wonder,
drinking in the story. When he had finished there was a long silence;
then Ben said:
“It seems to be a sort of place of call for them, with an officer of the
British service in command?”
Ezra nodded.
“But,” continued Ben, “it all seems very queer to me. Why is such a
strange person as you describe this Abdallah to be concerned in it? And
why is a place, so out of the way as that one, selected as a
headquarters?”
“To be out of the way, must be an advantage in a matter of their kind,”
smiled Ezra.
“No doubt. But that is not just what I mean. This adventurer, Gilbert
Scarlett, for example, brings a packet of papers from Cambridge. They
are read upon your delivering them; and you are sent with an answer to a
gentleman at a place near Charlestown. Why is that? It would have been
much simpler and less inconvenient to have sent the message to the
‘Indian’s Head’ in the first place.”
Again Ezra nodded.
“I get your point,” he said. “And I have been thinking over the same
thing ever since I left Abdallah’s house.”
Ben glanced quickly at his friend; there was that in his tone that
attracted his attention.
“And you have made up your mind to something, I know,” said he.
“Not altogether. But I have figured out some possibilities. This spy
system, while under the supervision of a British officer, has been
organized by Abdallah. He was imported by Gage for just this purpose. It
is possible that it is his profession. Experience has probably taught
him to isolate himself. But his spies, who are perhaps unknown to each
other, are scattered all about. When they have anything to report, they
send a rider who can be trusted; and he in turn carries the answer, if
one is called for, to a person who stands close to Gage and his
counselors.”
Ben rapped the oaken table smartly with his knuckles by way of applause.
“Good!” cried he. “That is just the way of it!” He looked at his friend
in high admiration for a moment. “And it is very fortunate that you
stumbled across it. Yes,” thoughtfully, as he renewed his inroads on the
bacon, “Abdallah is the chief spy, as you think. His little tilts with
Major Buckstone show that plainly enough.”
They discussed the matter for a long time, over the remnants of their
meal. The fact that the British had discovered the practically unguarded
condition of Boston Neck worried the boys not a little. One swift rush
of the trained regiments of the King might undo all the good that had
been accomplished. They spoke in low voices, for the landlord, and now
and then some other of the inn people, were constantly about; at length
some patrons entered and took seats at no great distance.
Safe in a hamlet where practically all were united in hatred of the laws
of Parliament, the boys gave little heed to those who came or went. The
newcomers ordered elaborately of the fare of the “Plow and Harrow”; the
host, in high good humor, bustled about giving them his best attention.
“Your horses, gentlemen,” said he, “should be rubbed down and unsaddled.
It will do them much good.”
“Leave them as they are,” said one of the strangers; “we may require
them at——”
The thin hand of one of his fellows tugged at his sleeve.
“Sh-h-h!” whispered the owner of the hand, warningly.
The first speaker laughed.
“But you are right,” admitted he, with great candor. “It is a well
established fault of mine that I talk too much.”
It so chanced that Ben Cooper sat facing the strangers. He caught the
landlord’s words and the answer that followed. He also heard the warning
“Sh-h-h!” and saw the tug at the speaker’s sleeve.
Lowering his voice, he described the scene to Ezra.
“Why,” said the latter, “there is something familiar about that.”
“Just what I thought,” agreed Ben. “The warning reminds me a great deal
of what you have just told me of your acquaintance Jason Collyer.”
“I wonder,” said Ezra, “could it, by any chance, be he?”
“If it is, he has followed you,” replied Ben.
As Ezra was opposite his friend, his back was to the newcomers; but some
little distance away there was a broad framed mirror, and by sitting in
a certain way he discovered that he could get a very good view of them,
indeed.
There were four in the party and all were attired in the soiled dress of
farm laborers. However, three of them bore themselves in a swaggering
manner much out of keeping with their apparent station. And all of them
wore pistols belted at their waists. The fourth man, and much the
smaller, sat in a shadow and for a time Ezra could not make him out.
However, he finally turned his head to reply to a remark of one of his
companions and his countenance was fairly reflected in the glass. There
was no mistaking the furtive eyes and ferret features. It was Jason
Collyer.
When the lad made this discovery known to Ben, the latter became greatly
excited.
“He’s followed you. You thought he suspected you all along, and you were
right.”
“And who, I wonder, are these others that he has brought with him?” said
Ezra, regarding the reflections in the glass with much interest. “They
look like tall, active fellows, and of a stamp that would not hesitate
at a trifle like a man’s life.”
“Would they dare, do you think, attack us here?”
“Why not? Jason Collyer has learned that I did not ride in the direction
of Charlestown. He probably suspected my presence among the trees
opposite Abdallah’s house when they came out and then made a quiet
investigation later. That is why no one answered the second cry of the
mastiffs. When he learned positively that I was not what I seemed, he
gathered this small, but very competent-looking force and made after me.
In his eyes I am a dangerous person; and in days like these, dangerous
persons are not treated very gently, as you know.”
“True enough,” replied Ben, his round face seeming to grow rounder as he
examined the strangers. “But, still, there is so much danger of a hue
and cry being started in a place like this.”
“They have not overlooked that,” Ezra told him quietly. “The fact that
they desired the landlord to leave their horses ready for mounting
proves that.”
“Well, what do you think we’d better do?” asked Ben, a combative
expression coming into his face.
“Nothing as yet. We must first see what they intend doing, and act
accordingly.”
They had no great while to wait, for one of the men arose and came
toward their table. He leaned familiarly upon it, gazing into each of
their faces in turn. He was a hard-featured man with a great thatch of
reddish hair; and a wide, mocking sort of grin displayed a set of
strong, yellow teeth.
“I give you good-evening,” said he, the grin growing wider.
“Good-evening to you,” replied Ezra, with great coolness.
The man examined them once more. Then he continued:
“You are strangers hereabouts, I take it.”
Ezra leaned back and regarded the speaker in turn.
“And, sir,” said he, “I’d take the same of you.”
The mocking grin lost a little of its tone; and a flush came into the
coarse, heavy-featured face.
“Hah!” said the man. “You are very apt in your answers, I see.”
“It’s a habit that’s like to grow upon one after a little experience
with the world,” answered Ezra, evenly.
“You are very young to have had much experience of any sort,” spoke the
man. He pushed back the platters and cups in a most offensive way and
seated himself upon a corner of the table.
“Age does not always bring experience, any more than it brings manners,”
returned Ezra, pointedly.
The grin disappeared entirely; two points of anger showed in the man’s
eyes.
“You grow more and more apt in your sayings,” spoke he. Then in a
jeering way: “I have no doubt but that you think yourself a smart and
proper youth, indeed.”
“And you may also have no doubt, sir,” replied the boy, “that there are
many things that pass through your mind that give me very little
concern.”
A subdued burst of laughter came from the man’s comrades; his face
darkened and he rose up from the table, his hands clenched. What he
would have done Ezra never knew; just then the lad caught the reflection
of Jason Collyer in the mirror; he was beckoning the man away. And, with
a shrug of the shoulders and a snap of his strong jaws, he obeyed.
“They aim to fasten a quarrel upon us,” breathed Ben. “Have you your
pistol?”
“No,” replied Ezra. “It is in my holster.”
“And mine,” said Ben. “I had no idea that we’d ever need them here.”
Ben was ready enough when left to himself but when accompanied by Ezra,
usually left the planning of any important step to him. And now, as he
looked at him, expecting some ready ruse that would enable them to evade
danger, he was not disappointed. Ezra’s face was confident and
unruffled. Indeed, there was a humorous twinkle in his eyes, as he said:
“I want you to make some sort of an excuse to go outside. It must be a
good one or they will prevent your going. When you get there, slip off
the bridles of two of their horses and loosen their saddle girths. Do
you understand?”
“Perfectly,” answered Ben.
The four men were whispering together and casting undisguisedly hostile
glances at the boys. The landlord and some of the inn’s people who
lingered about noticed this, and began to exhibit concern.
Ben Cooper arose with much self-possession.
“Landlord,” said he, “what is our bill? Your inn is a fairly good one,
but much too uncomfortable for persons who desire to be unmolested.”
The stout host mentioned the sum, and Ben put a hand in his pocket. A
look of dismay came into his face, and turning quickly to Ezra he said:
“I’ll have to see to my saddle-bags. I’m growing very careless of late.”
He hastily crossed to the door, and went out. The hard-faced man rose
and went to a window overlooking the space before the inn; he stood
there with his back turned to those in the room, his whole attitude
indicative of watchfulness.
“That won’t do,” said Ezra to himself. “If my plan is to come to
anything he must not stand there.”
He was casting about in his mind for a means of drawing the man’s
attention from Ben, when Jason Collyer spoke to the host.
“Landlord, I take it that you are not troubled a great deal with Tories
in these parts.”
“No, gentlemen,” replied the stout man fervently, “I am thankful to say
that we are not. Those who were of that way of thinking went their way
into Boston; you see, it was made unpleasant for them hereabouts. If
they loved Gage and his army so well, we thought it better that they
should be there where they could see them every day.”
“And quite right,” spoke Jason Collyer. Ezra noticed that he no longer
took the trouble to keep in the background. At first he had done so, but
now, apparently, his plans had changed. “Quite right,” repeated Jason
Collyer. “Such folks are most dangerous, and scarcely of the kind that
honest folk care to mingle with.”
From indications, the subject of Tories was one that had great interest
for the stout host of the “Plow and Harrow.” He puffed out his cheeks
and smoothed the white apron carefully.
“Preserve me from any such!” said he. “They come sneaking into one’s
house, prying and asking questions. And all the time they have it in
their hearts to send one to the gallows. They should be dealt with
hardly!”
“They are a poisonous tribe,” said Jason Collyer. He darted a covert
look at Ezra as he said this, and the boy noted a smile of satisfaction
upon his thin lips. Like an inspiration, the other’s intention flashed
upon the boy.
“He’s sounded the landlord upon this subject with one thought in his
mind,” Ezra told himself. “He’ll tell him that Ben and I are Tories; and
so these friends of his will be left to work their wills with us.”
Ezra was not a lad to sit and ponder while something to his injury was
going forward. With the solution of the other’s plan, came a counterplot
with which he hoped to balk it.
“If you will pardon me, sir,” spoke he, leaning forward, his elbows upon
the table, “I would like to agree with you in what you have said. The
greatest enemies of the colonies are those who should naturally be at
one with us—the Tories.”
“Truly spoken, young gentleman,” beamed the landlord, “and very well
spoken too.”
Jason Collyer was about to say something, but Ezra calmly waved him
down, riveting the host’s attention with a look.
“And, as you say, sir,” with a little bow, “they intrude themselves into
one’s very house with the basest of intentions against one’s peace. And
they come when least expected, also in many guises.”
He looked coolly toward the man who still stood watching from the
window, and proceeded, slightly lifting his voice:
“It is all but impossible to detect them in time. One seldom suspects
them. For example,” and he gestured toward the man at the window, “that
gentleman over there, for all we know, may be a Tory.”
Ezra knew perfectly well that the next few moments must precipitate a
struggle. In order that Ben might have an opportunity to do his work,
the watcher at the window must relax his attention.
The raised voice and the boy’s bold insinuation had the effect which he
intended. Instantly the man turned from the window, a snarl upon his
lips; he approached Ezra menacingly.
“So, my lad, I hear from you again,” spoke he, gratingly. “Perhaps if
you knew me better, you would not be so ready with your tongue.”
Ezra regarded him quietly. That his ruse had succeeded greatly delighted
the young patriot; but he concealed his pleasure under a mask of
indifference.
“As you suggest,” replied he, “if I knew you better, I might hesitate in
speaking to you.” He was looking the man coolly in the eye; it would
take a practiced hand like Ben Cooper’s but a moment to strip off a
brace of bridles, and he did not now care what action the red-haired man
might take. So he proceeded with even greater nonchalance than before:
“And it is also possible that, in the same case, I might go to even
greater lengths than I have.”
For an instant the man glared at the boy as though dazed by his
boldness. Then he leaped toward him in a fury.
But Ezra was prepared for the attack. Like a flash he was upon his feet;
the heavy oaken table fell, with a crash of crockery, before the man;
unable to stay himself, he went sprawling over it. Ezra’s quick eye had
noted the concerted action of the man’s friends at the moment of the
attack. All had leaped up, their hands fingering the locks of their
pistols.
But the boy gave them no time to think after the fall of the table. With
a series of soft-footed bounds he reached the window. Placing his hands
upon the sill, he vaulted out into the night, and ran toward a group of
horses, at no great distance from the door.
“This way,” cried Ben Cooper. In another moment the boys were in the
saddle and tearing madly away from the “Plow and Harrow.”