THE RIDE TO THE MILL
THE early morning had not yet gone when Little Peter started on his
journey to the mill. He knew the place well, for many a time had he gone
there for his father. It was an antiquated structure beside a pond,
which had been formed by a dam built across the very brook near which he
and Indian John had passed the preceding night.
The work at the mill had been somewhat interrupted since the outbreak of
the war, but the increasing necessities of the people of Old Monmouth
had led the miller to resume his labors, and Sarah had informed Little
Peter that he would surely find him in his accustomed place.
At times, the road led through the woods, and the boy could almost touch
the bushes that grew close to the sandy roadway on either side. His view
was somewhat obstructed by these,--and that fact, together with the
unbroken stillness that rested over all, combined to make Little Peter
watchful, and somewhat fearful as well.
The sunlight flickered through the treetops and cast fantastic shadows
on the ground. The horses did not increase their speed above a slow
trot, for the heat was oppressive and the sandy road was heavy; and,
eager as Little Peter was to be back again at Benzeor's house, he had
not the heart to urge on the toiling beasts. The mill was not more than
three miles from the place from which he had started, and at the pace at
which the horses were then going the lad thought he would be back in
less than two hours.
He had covered about half of the way to the mill when his horses, with a
sudden snort of fear, darted to one side of the roadway. Little Peter
quickly drew the reins tight, and stood up to discover the cause of the
alarm.
Two men stepped from the bushes into the road, and as they grasped the
horses by their bits the lad at once recognized them as Barzilla
Giberson and Jacob Vannote.
"We thought you were Benzeor," exclaimed Barzilla, as he discovered who
the driver was.
"I've got his horses," replied Little Peter.
"So I see. What are you doing with them?"
"Going to the mill. You know the children are at Benzeor's house, and
Sarah wanted me to go for some meal. She said there was none in the
house and her father wasn't likely to be home in time to get it, so I
came for it."
"Where's your father?"
"He's been sent to New York."
"So I've heard. Little Peter, do you know who made the attack on your
house?"
"It was Fenton's gang, I'm sure."
"So am I, and I ought to know, for I was there myself."
"You there?" exclaimed Little Peter. He did not refer to the suspicions
he had entertained concerning the very men who then stood before him;
but he had never expected them to declare their actions so boldly. The
alarm which he had felt, when the two men had suddenly presented
themselves in the road, was greatly increased now, and for a moment he
glanced quickly about as if he were seeking some avenue of escape.
"Yes, we were there," resumed Barzilla, apparently ignoring the lad's
alarm. "I didn't know but you knew it, and I've felt mean enough about
it, too. We didn't have anything to do with what happened there," he
hastily added; "but the truth is, we thought it was about time some kind
of a stop was put to the doings of the pine robbers,--so Jacob, here,
and I pretended to go in with them. Of course we didn't like the work,
but we hoped we could learn enough about their plans to trap them. And
we've almost succeeded. We've been as busy as you have, my lad, and
pretty soon we hope the murderers of your mother will be run to cover."
Little Peter had never thought of the scheme which Barzilla mentioned,
and at first he did not know whether to believe him or not. Certainly
appearances were against him, but he was in no position to dispute the
statement.
"Is that what Benzeor was doing, too?" he inquired.
"Benzeor? Benzeor Osburn? Don't you know what he had to do"--
"Hold on, Barzilla," interrupted Jacob. "Little Peter doesn't know about
him, or he wouldn't let the children stay there."
"Why? What do you mean? Aren't the children safe there?" said Peter
quickly.
"Safe? They couldn't be safer if they were in China, or some other
heathing land," said Barzilla. "Even Benzeor's horses are safe. There
isn't such a team as that left in Old Monmouth," he added, "and if his
beasts aren't touched, I don't think you need to worry very much about
the young ones."
"I don't understand," said Little Peter.
"You don't need to," said Jacob quickly, "You've got enough to worry
about, my boy, without bothering your head over Barzilla's words. He
talks too much, anyway. You just go on and get the meal for Sarah;
that's all you need to think about now."
"Yes, but Little Peter ought to know a bit more," said Barzilla
doggedly. "The truth is that we've run some of Fenton's gang into these
very woods. There are several of us scouring the region, and it's only
fair to tell you that you may run across some of 'em if you keep on. For
my part I advise you to turn back and not go to the mill at all. It
isn't safe."
"Nobody'll touch him. Let him go on," said Jacob. "The children will
have to be fed, and he might as well get the meal. He's safe enough."
"He can do as he pleases," muttered Barzilla.
Little Peter was perplexed, for the actions and words of the men were
sadly confusing. Tom had reported to him some of their previous
conversations, and his own suspicions, as we know, had been aroused. If
Barzilla spoke truly now, he was in no slight danger himself, while the
very decided difference of opinion between the two men tended to
increase his confusion.
"I'm goin' to tell you some more," said Jacob. "Last night some of
Fenton's gang went over to Mr. Farr's. You know the old man, don't you?"
"You mean Thomas Farr, the old man who lives with his wife and daughter
over on the road to Imlaystown?"
"That's the very man. Well, Lew Fenton and some of his gang went over
there about midnight, and attacked the house. There wasn't any one in it
but the old man and his wife and their daughter, and you know she's old
enough to have arrived at years of discretion, to put it mildly. The old
people barricaded the doors with logs of wood just as soon as they
discovered who the men were.
"The pine robbers tried to break the door down with some fence rails,
but when that failed, they fired a volley of bullets right through the
door. One ball broke the leg of the old man, but still they wouldn't let
the pine robbers in. Then the villains went around to the back door and
succeeded in smashing that in. They stuck a bayonet into the old man,
who was helpless on the floor, and then they murdered his wife right
before his eyes. One of the men struck the daughter with the butt of his
gun, but, although she was pretty badly hurt, she managed to get out of
the house.
"Fenton's gang didn't wait to plunder the place, but, as they were
afraid she'd raise an alarm, they all cleared out. 'Twas mighty lucky
for them that they did, for there was a lot of us near by. You see we'd
seen Benzeor"--
"Hold on, Jacob. That's enough. Now, Peter, you see what's going on, and
it's my opinion that some of Fenton's gang, and maybe Fenton himself,
are in these very woods. That's why I advised ye not to go on. Now you
can do jest as ye like, for you've got pretty much the whole story."
"I think you'll be all right," said Jacob. "It's only a little way up to
the mill, and the children need that meal. I should go if I was in your
place, and if I didn't have to keep watch here, I'd go with ye myself."
"I'll go," said Little Peter quietly.
"Good luck to ye, then," said Barzilla. "We'll see you here when you
come back."
Little Peter picked up the reins and at once started, leaving the two
men behind him, who remained standing in the road, and watched him until
he disappeared from sight. The lad's feelings, however, had undergone a
very decided change. He was convinced that the story concerning the aged
Thomas Farr was true, and he was also persuaded that his suspicions of
Jacob and Barzilla were unjust.
Every tree now might be the hiding-place of Fenton, or some of his band.
Each moment he expected to see some one step forth into the road before
him and stop his horses. The very silence in the woods served to
increase his alarm. He quickened the speed of the horses, and soon they
were wet with foam, as they toiled on through the heavy sand. The cry of
a bird, or the chattering of a squirrel, caused the excited lad to
glance fearfully in the direction from which the sound came. To his
excited imagination the woods were filled with his enemies, and more
than once a fallen tree or a broken branch took on the outlines of a
man.
It was with a feeling of intense relief that at last he saw the
crumbling old mill before him. The sound of the water, as it dropped
from the dam to the bed of the brook below, was like music in his ears;
and when he discovered the miller himself standing in the doorway, he
again increased the speed of his horses, and soon halted before the
mill.
"I've come for Benzeor Osburn's grist," he said, as he leaped from his
seat to the ground.
"They must be pretty hungry over there, from the looks of your horses."
"They are. Has any one been here this morning?"
"Not a soul. There's no work now, with all this fighting going on. Have
you heard anything from the soldiers?"
"Not much, only that both the armies must be near here now."
There was nothing, however, in the presence of the old mill to indicate
that war's rude alarms were to be heard anywhere in the region. The
monotonous sound of the falling water, the dull hum of the big wheel,
the little garden which the miller had planted near his log house close
by, the dog lying asleep on the doorsill, the little urchins playing in
the waters of the brook, the hens fluttering in the roadway and covering
themselves with dust,--all seemed to declare that only peace and quiet
were to be found in the region.
And yet, only a few miles away two great armies had assembled, and, on
the morrow the summer air would resound with the booming of cannon, and
many a buffcoat and redcoat would be left lying side by side upon the
plains of Old Monmouth, never again to be mindful of the struggle, or
hear or heed the calls of their officers as they led the men into
battle.
At that very time, if the words of Barzilla Giberson were true, the
woods, which extended between the mill and the main road, concealed some
of the hated pine robbers, as well as outraged patriots who were
searching for their enemies.
The wagon was soon loaded, the miller's share of the grist having first
been set aside, and Little Peter climbed up on the seat and grasped the
reins, as he prepared to start again.
"You'd better be careful," said Little Peter. "I'm told some of the
pine robbers are hiding in these woods."
"I'm not afraid," laughed the miller. "I never harmed them and they
won't harm me."
The lad related the story of the attack upon the house of Thomas Farr,
but still the miller to all appearances was not deeply impressed.
"I haven't any money and they've nothing to gain by disturbing me. I
grind my grists just the same, whether it's a king or Congress that
rules over me, and I don't care much, for my part, which it is. I don't
bother my head about such things. All I want is good water and plenty of
corn, and I'm happy all the day long."
Little Peter had given his warning, so he said no more, but bidding the
miller good-day, he spoke to his horses and at once departed.
His load was heavier now than when he had come, and consequently he was
compelled to let his horses walk. Even then the sweltering beasts
labored heavily under the intense heat, and he was compelled to stop
frequently and permit them to rest in some cool and shady spot.
His own fears had not departed, however, but every turn of the heavy
wheels brought him nearer to the main road, and once there he thought he
would be safe. Already one of the three miles had been left behind him,
and he was about to start on, after the brief rest he had given the
horses, when he was startled by the sound of something breaking through
the bushes that lined the road in front of him.
Tremblingly he waited a moment, gazing with frightened face at the place
in the road where the man, or animal, or whatever it was, would first
appear. His suspense was not relieved when a horse and rider broke
through the bushes and stopped only a few yards in advance of him.
Little Peter's face was deadly pale when he instantly recognized the man
as none other than Lewis Fenton himself. He noted the great size, the
broad shoulders, the powerful arms, for the pine robber was riding
without a coat, and his shirt-sleeves were rolled back, disclosing the
great bunches of muscles; but more than all else the brutal face
terrified him.
Before he could speak or move, Fenton leaped to the ground, and leaving
his horse by the roadside approached the wagon.
"How now, young man? Give an account of yourself. Where you going? Who
are you? As I live, if it isn't Little Peter Van Mater!" he added in
evident astonishment.
As he spoke, he grasped the frightened lad by the shoulder and dragged
him to the ground. Then the brutal, cowardly man struck him two savage
blows. The sight of the woods and even of the pine robber faded from
Little Peter's eyes, and the unconscious boy dropped heavily upon the
sand. Even then Fenton was not satisfied, for again and again he kicked
the body, apparently not yet convinced that life was extinct.
But Little Peter suffered no pain. With sightless eyes, his
blood-stained face looked up at the blue sky above the treetops, but
neither the passing clouds nor the further actions of the brutal pine
robber were heeded by the lad.