Then Marched the Brave/Chapter V

CHAPTER V

A SUSPICION

September dragged wretchedly. There was no need of stealing among the bushes for news or amusement.

Indeed, Andy wisely concluded that to keep to the open, innocent ways would be the only possible thing that could help the absent master.

He missed the lessons and the exciting comradeship, too; the contrast was painful. Janie saw, but questioned not. It was all beyond her. Ruth was the only relief.

"Fear not, Andy," she would say. "You must bide your time, and wait patiently. 'Tis what Washington is doing. Copy your General in this, as well as other things. One may serve in that way as well as in others. You should hear the tales Hans Brickman tells of the doings in the patriot camp. He carries eggs and honey, you know.

"He says that Washington isn't just fighting or holding in check the king's men; but his own troops are acting shamefully—threatening to desert, and begging for money; complaining all day long. Oh! if I were a soldier I would show them!" The girl flung her strong young arms above her head, and brought down her clenched fists in a laughably vehement way.

"And there sits that great General, never flinching, but writing to Congress to pay the babies; and calming the tyrants with one breath, and shaming them into obedience with the next.

"Hans says he dashes at them sometimes with his sword, and slaps the raw recruits into shape, telling them that if they run when he orders them to advance, he'll shoot them himself. There's a man for you!"

"Indeed there is a man," nodded Andy, and his face grew brighter. "And I should cry shame to myself because I am so impatient of this lameness which holds me back."

"Holds you back! Andy McNeal, that is rank ingratitude. You've been up to some mighty doings, that I know, or you would not be hungering for more glory. Oh, I can see a bit ahead of my nose. Time was when you hung around, not knowing glory because it had not come your way. You've tasted it, Andy, and your thirst grows. I know a thing or two. You're getting strong, too, Andy; you're an inch taller than I. Father mentioned the fact this very morning. You're taking on airs, but remember, I knew you when you were less a man. Have a care; a woman has a tongue. I'll be calling you down if you carry things with too high a hand."

Andy laughed and stood straighter. Then, very quietly:

"Andy, what was the master's name?"

"Ruth, I do not know."

"Do not, or will not tell?"

"I do not know."

"Can you tell me why he stayed here?"

"I cannot tell you, Ruth. Why do you ask?" The girl paused and dropped her clear eyes.

"They do say, the whisper has reached my father, that he was a spy, and—and a dangerous one!"

"They lie!" said Andy, hotly; "he, a spy!" Then the boyish voice fell. The last, sad talk under the stars came clearly back, and in the shock of the memory the boy trembled.

Ruth watched him closely. "I'm not over-curious," she faltered, "but I fear for you. If he—if he were a spy you were seen with him far too often for your good. Father even feared for me."

"Ruth" (Andy's voice had a new tone), "I can believe no dishonor of the master, and I am proud that I walked with him and was his friend!"

"Aye" (Ruth looked doubtful), "but a spy is not a good thing, Andy, no matter what shape it takes."

Old, rigid training held them both, but Andy must defend his friend, though the honest soul of Ruth shone from her eyes, and challenged him.

"It is as a thing is used," he began, lamely, but seeing his way dimly.

"Father does not preach that," Ruth broke in.

"No; nor would I preach it," sighed Andy.

"But you would act it?" Ruth flashed.

"I do—not know. I cannot think the master was aught but honest. If he were—were—" Andy could not use the hard word—"if he were finding things out, you may be sure, Ruth, it was not for his own uplifting. If he gave what other men would call—would call their honor—it was because he held not even that from his country. I can—see—how—that could—be!"

Ruth raised her eyes. "Could you, Andy?" she said.

"Yes. I could give it as I could my life. I would take no recompense, I would just give, and do anything. Ruth, suppose you knew a truth about—about—well, about me; a truth that, if it were known, would be the death of me. Would you tell, or—or would you save me?"

It was a rigid moment for the stern little maid. Her eyes fell, then were raised again.

"I—do—not—know," she panted, "but a lie is a lie, and I should expect to be punished."

"So should I for any dishonorable thing," agreed Andy. "That is just it, but it would be my willingness to do it, and then to suffer, that makes the difference."

The two were standing near the end of the Pass at a small gate, and as Andy ceased speaking a sound smote their ears that turned them pale. It was the sound of many horsemen galloping wildly onward.

"The king's men landed at Kip's Bay this morning," gasped Andy, clutching the gate, "and they do say that Douglass's men are not strong enough to defend the point."

It was Putnam's five brigades; the boy and girl only knew they were patriot troops. They had been ordered by Washington to make for Manhattanville before retreat was cut off.

Young Aaron Burr was acting as guide. The master had once pointed him out to Andy, and the boy remembered the face well. Boldly and fearlessly he was riding, and Andy's voice broke into a cheer as he recognized the noble face. The leaders halted. There were several roads ahead; which was safest and quickest? Burr ventured a question.

"Which way leads most directly to Manhattanville?" he said.

"Keep close to the river, and make for Kingsbridge, Colonel," Andy answered. "That road is not so carefully watched; it is rougher but safer."

Burr gave him a smile, then galloped ahead. The last weary stragglers were barely out of sight, when again the sound of on-coming horsemen broke the stillness.

"These are king's men!" groaned Ruth, who had stood rigidly silent until now. "Ah! Andy, and the others so little in advance!"

Constantly blowing their bugles and shouting derisively after the fleeing patriots, my Lord Howe's men advanced.

"'Tis a rare fox-hunt!" laughed one.

"But the fox and his mates are out of sight, my lord," cried another.

"For the moment. The ways divide a few rods beyond. Did the rebels pass this way?" asked an officer noticing Andy and Ruth.



"Yes, sir!" answered Ruth, promptly, and for a moment Andy sickened at what he feared she was about to do. It was too late, though, for him to interfere.

"Which road did they take?"

The instant's pause seemed an eternity to Andy. Then calmly and with clear, uplifted eyes:

"The main road, sir, it being the safer and shorter!" Andy felt a moment's dizziness. Then a rough voice startled him:

"I know that boy, my lord; he was the one in the secret passage, about which I told you. I shall not soon forget him."

"I thought you said your companion in the cave was dealt a stunning blow; surely this lad could have done no such thing," answered the Captain.

"I could swear to him, your lordship, though I saw him but for a moment as Martin went down, and the light went out. Hi! there, Martin, come here," he called. A man galloped up, a man with a dark bruise upon his forehead and eye.

"Martin, do you know that boy?" Martin looked, and in the clear light he saw and knew Andy at once; but something staggered him, and he stammered and shook.

"Did you strike this soldier?" asked the Captain impatiently of Andy.

"No, sir!" The words came sharply.

"You do not recognize him?" asked the officer of Martin.

"He—is—the—same!" Martin blurted. "We are losing time, my lord."

"There is no way to settle the thing here; we are losing time, and your story of that night in the cave is too important to overlook, Norton. If this is the boy we must deal with him later. The young scamp probably knows the roads well. Lead on, you rascal, but if you play any tricks and mislead us, my men shall pin you to a tree."

Ruth gave one despairing cry:

"He is lame," she panted. "For shame! How can he lead a mounted troop?"

"We'll go slowly. The game's nearly up, my girl," laughed Norton, "and a prick of the bayonet"—he suited the word with an action, and prodded Andy on the arm—"will hurry the lamest patriot. Lead on, cave-crawler!"

Andy gave one look at Ruth. A look of bravery, appreciation, and mute thanks for her part of the work.

"It's all right, Ruth," he called back. "Tell mother I'll lead them straight enough and be home in an hour. Good-by."

By a winding way leading from the main road they went; through Apthorpe's place they cantered at their ease, and so came to the highway a mile beyond.

"There may be a shorter cut, my lord," suggested Norton; then he paused. "Does your lordship observe there are no marks on the road that bespeak the recent passing of a regiment? This should mean the young rebel's death!"

"He's a spy in the old fox's hire!" shouted another.

"String him up, along with the schoolmaster down at the Beekman place to-morrow morning!" roared a third. All was wild commotion in a moment. But in that moment Andy took his chances and made for the thicket, and the hidden path over which he and Washington went that day that now seemed so long ago. A man leaned from a horse and tried to clutch him, lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. Confusion covered Andy's dash.

"He's gone!" yelled the man who had fallen.

"Which way?" shouted several in response.

Which way? Aye, that was the query. Which way!

Andy made for the dry bed of the stream. No rustling leaves must betray him. Not in flight was his safety now, but in silent hiding until darkness should come. Down into the muddy pool of the once rushing brook, rolled the boy. In the distance he heard:

"No trail here, my lord!" and he smiled grimly.

"Well, a lost lame rebel is of less account than the regiments ahead," shouted the Captain. "Bad luck to the young devil. Cut cross country and try the river road!"

"They have an hour to the good!" thought Andy, as he remembered the weary patriots and young Aaron Burr. Soon all was quiet, and with the palpitating silence a new thought grew in Andy's brain. "Better string him up to-morrow with the schoolmaster!" Whom did they mean!

"Schoolmaster! Spy!" The two words struck dully on the aching brain. Suppose! Andy sat up and gazed wildly into the dense underbrush. "Could it be?" But no; the idea was too horrible.

The long shadows began to creep among the rocks they loved so well. Still Andy sat staring into the awful possibility that the words conjured up.

"Schoolmaster! Spy!" He could stand it no longer. Cautiously he crept up the bank. Through all the excitement he had clung to his crutch. It must serve him well now. He set out determinedly toward the highway. Come what might, he must reach the Beekman place as soon as possible, and he hoped that the road was safe, owing to interest being centered elsewhere. In this hope he was right. Below and above him, excitement ran rife, but the highway seemed to belong to him alone.