The Little Red Foot Part 48

"They've gone," said Nick, with an oath. "Two mounted men and a led horse rode toward Johnstown two hours since. They wore Canajoharie regimentals. Major Westfall sent a dozen riders after 'em; but men who came so boldly to spy us out are like to get away as boldly, too."

He plucked my arm and I stepped apart with him.

"Westfall's in his dotage; Dayton is too slow. Why don't they send up Willett or Herkimer?"

"I don't know," said I, troubled.

"Well," says Nick, "it's clear that Stevie Watts was there and has spoken with Lady Johnson. But what more is to be done? She's our prisoner. I wish to G.o.d they'd sent her to Albany or New York, where she could contrive no mischief. And that other lady, too. Lord! but Major Westfall is in a pother! And I wager Colonel Dayton will be in another, and at his wit's ends."

The business distressed me beyond measure, and I remained silent.

"By the way," he added, "your yellow-haired inamorata sends you a billet-doux. Here it is."

I took the bit of folded paper, stepped aside and read it by the firelight:

"Sir:

"I venture to entertain a hope that some day it may please you to converse again with one whose offense--if any--remains a mystery to her still.

"P. G."

I read it again, then crumpled it and dropped it on the coals. I had seen Steve Watts kiss her. That was enough.

"There's a devil's nest of Tories gathering in Howell's house tonight to cut our throats," said I coldly. "Should we take them with ten men, or call in the Continentals?"

"Who be they?" asked Nick, astounded.

"The old pack--Cadys, Helmers, Bowman, Weed, Grinnis. They are ten rifles."

He got very red.

"This is a domestic business," said I. "Shall we wash our b.l.o.o.d.y linen for the world to see what filth chokes Fonda's Bush?"

"No," said he, slowly, with that faint flare in his eyes I had seen at times, "let us clean our own house o' vermin, and make no brag of what is only our proper shame."

CHAPTER XIX

OUT OF THE NORTH

It lacked still an hour to midnight, which time I had set for our advance upon John Howell's house, and my Oneidas had not yet done painting, when Johnny Silver, who was on guard, whistled from his post, and I ran thither with Nick.

A man in leather was coming in through the _chevaux-de-frise_, and Johnny dropped a tamarack log across the ditch for him, over which he ran like a tree-martin, and so climbed up into the flare of Nick's lantern.

The man in forest runner's dress was Dave Ellerson, known to us all as a good neighbor and a staunch Whig; but we scarce recognized him in his stringy buckskins and c.o.o.n-skin cap, with the ringed tail a-bobbing.

On his hunting shirt there was a singular device of letters sewed there in white cloth, which composed the stirring phrase, "Liberty or Death."

And we knew immediately that he had become a soldier in the 11th Virginia Regiment, which is called Morgan's Rifles.

He seemed to have travelled far, though light, for he carried only rifle and knife, ammunition, and a small sack which flapped flat and empty; but his manner was lively and his merry gaze clear and untroubled as we grasped his powerful hands.

"Why, Dave!" said I, "how come you here, out o' the North?"

"I travel express from Arnold to Schuyler," said he. "Have you a gill of rum, John?"

Johnny Silver had not drunk his gill, and poured it into Dave's pannikin.

Down it went, and he smacked his lips. Then we took him back to the fire, where the Oneidas were still a-painting, and made him eat and drink and dry him by the flames.

"Is there a horse to be had at Summer House?" he demanded, his mouth full of parched corn.

"Surely," said I. And asked him news of the North, if he were at liberty to give us any account.

"The news I can not give you is what I shall not," said he, laughing.

"But there's plenty besides, and d.a.m.ned bad."

"Bad?"

"Monstrous bad, John. For on my forest-running south from Chambly, I saw Sir John and his crew as they gained the Canadas! They seemed near dead, too, but they were full three hundred, and I but one, so I did not tarry to mark 'em with a stealthy bullet, but pulled foot for Saint Sacrement."

He grinned, bit a morsel from a cold pigeon, and sat chewing it reflectively and watching the Indians at their painting.

"You know what is pa.s.sing in Canada?" he demanded abruptly.

"Nothing definite," said I.

"Listen, then. We had taken Chambly, Montreal, and St. John's. Arnold lay before Quebec. Sullivan commanded us. Six weeks ago he sent Hazen's regiment to Arnold. Then the Canadians and Indians struck us at the Cedars, and we lost five hundred men before we were out of it."

"What was the reason for such disaster?" I demanded, turning hot with wrath.

"Cowardice and smallpox," said he carelessly. "They were new troops sent up to reinforce us, and their general, Thomas, died o' the pox.

"And atop of that comes news of British transports in the St. Lawrence, and of British regulars and Hessians.

"So Sullivan sends the Pennsylvania Line to strike 'em. St. Clair marches, Wayne marches, Irving follows with his regiment. Lord, how they were peppered, the Pennsylvania Line! And Thompson was taken, and Colonel Irving, and they wounded Anthony Wayne; and the Line ran!"

"Ran!"

"By G.o.d, yes. And our poor little Northern Army is on the run today, with thirteen thousand British on their heels.

"They drove us out o' Chambly. They took the Cedars. Montreal fell. St.

John's followed. Quebec is freed. We're clean kicked out o' Canada, and marching up Lake Champlain, our rear in touch with the red-coats.

"If we stand and face about at Crown Point, we shall do more than I hope for.