The Maid-At-Arms Part 26

"Pooh! We've a dozen years to change trees," said Sir Lupus, in great content. "All's well everywhere, save at the Fish-House near the Sacandaga ford, where some impudent rascal says he saw smoke on the hills. He's doubtless a liar. Where's Sir George?"

Sir George sauntered forth from the doorway where he had been standing, and begged us to dismount, but the patroon declined, saying that we had far to ride ere sundown, and that one of us should go around by Broadalbin. However, Dorothy and I slipped from our saddles to stretch our legs while a servant brought stirrup-cups and Sir George gathered a spray of late lilac which my cousin fastened to her leather belt.

"Tory lilacs," said Sir George, slyly; "these bushes came from cuttings of those Sir William planted at Johnson Hall."

"If Sir William planted them, a rebel may wear them," replied Dorothy, gayly.

"Ay, it's that whelp, Sir John, who has marred what the great baronet left as his monument," growled old Peter Van Horn.

"That's treason!" snapped the patroon. "Stop it. I won't have politics talked in my presence, no! Dammy, Peter, hold your tongue, sir!"

Dorothy, wearing the lilac spray, vaulted lightly into her saddle, and I mounted my mare. Stirrup-cups were filled and pa.s.sed up to us, and we drained a cooled measure of spiced claret to the master of the pleasure-house, who pledged us gracefully in return, and then stood by Dorothy's horse, chatting and laughing until, at a sign from Sir Lupus, Cato sounded "Afoot!" on his curly hunting-horn, and the patroon wheeled his big horse out into the road, with a whip-salute to our host.

"Dine with us to-night!" he bawled, without turning his fat head or waiting for a reply, and hammered away in a torrent of dust. Sir George glanced wistfully at Dorothy.

"There's a district officer-call gone out," he said. "Some of the Palatine officers desire my presence. I cannot refuse. So ... it is good-bye for a week."

"Are you a militia officer?" I asked, curiously.

"Yes," he said, with a humorous grimace. "May I say that you also are a candidate?"

Dorothy turned squarely in her saddle and looked me in the eyes.

"At the district's service, Sir George," I said, lightly.

"Ha! That is well done, Ormond!" he exclaimed. "Nothing yet to inconvenience you, but our Governor Clinton may send you a billet doux from Albany before May ends and June begins--if this periwigged beau, St. Leger, strolls out to ogle Stanwix--"

Dorothy turned her horse sharply, saluted Sir George, and galloped away towards her father, who had halted at the cross-roads to wait for us.

"Good-bye, Sir George," I said, offering my hand. He took it in a firm, steady clasp.

"A safe journey, Ormond. I trust fortune may see fit to throw us together in this coming campaign."

I bowed, turned bridle, and cantered off, leaving him standing in the road before his gayly painted pleasure-house, an empty wine-cup in his hand.

"d.a.m.nation, George!" bawled Sir Lupus, as I rode up, "have we all day to stand nosing one another and trading gossip! Some of us must ride by Fonda's Bush, or Broadalbin, whatever the Scotch loons call it; and I'll say plainly that I have no stomach for it; I want my dinner!"

"It will give me pleasure to go," said I, "but I require a guide."

"Peter shall ride with you," began Sir Lupus; but Dorothy broke in, impatiently:

"He need not. I shall guide Mr. Ormond to Broadalbin."

"Oh no, you won't!" snapped the patroon; "you've done enough of forest-running for one day. Peter, pilot Mr. Ormond to the Bush."

And he galloped on ahead, followed by Cato and Peter; so that, by reason of their dust, which we did not choose to choke in, Dorothy and I slackened our pace and fell behind.

"Do you know why you are to pa.s.s by Broadalbin?" she asked, presently.

I said I did not.

"Folk at the Fish-House saw smoke on the Mayfield hills an hour since.

That is twice in three days!"

"Well," said I, "what of that?"

"It is best that the Broadalbin settlement should hear of it."

"Do you mean that it may have been an Indian signal?"

"It may have been. I did not see it--the forest cut our view."

The westering sun, shining over the Mayfield hills, turned the dust to golden fog. Through it Cato's red coat glimmered, and the hunting-horn, curving up over his bent back, struck out streams of blinding sparks.

Bra.s.s b.u.t.tons on the patroon's broad coat-skirts twinkled like yellow stars, and the spurs flashed on his quarter-gaiters as he pounded along at a solid hand-gallop, hat crammed over his fat ears, pig-tail a-bristle, and the blue coat on his enormous body white with dust.

In the renewed melody of the song-birds there was a hint of approaching evening; shadows lengthened; the sunlight grew redder on the dusty road.

"The Broadalbin trail swings into the forest just ahead," said Dorothy, pointing with her whip-stock. "See, there where they are drawing bridle.

But I mean to ride with you, nevertheless.... And I'll do it!"

The patroon was waiting for us when we came to the weather-beaten finger-post:

"FONDA'S BUSH 4 MILES."

And Peter Van Horn had already ridden into the broad, soft wood-road, when Dorothy, swinging her horse past him at a gallop, cried out, "I want to go with them! Please let me!" And was gone like a deer, tearing away down the leafy trail.

"Come back!" roared Sir Lupus, standing straight up in his ponderous stirrups. "Come back, you little vixen! Am I to be obeyed, or am I not?

Baggage! Undutiful tree-cat! Dammy, she's off!"

He looked at me and smote his fat thigh with open hand.

"Did you ever see the like of her!" he chuckled, in his pride. "She's a Dutch Varick for obstinacy, but the rest is Ormond--all Ormond. Ride on, George, and tell those rebel fools at Fonda's Bush that they should be hunting cover in the forts if folk at the Fish-House read that smoke aright. Follow the Brandt-Meester if Dorothy slips you, and tell her I'll birch her, big as she is, if she's not home by the new moon rise."

Then he dragged his hat over his mottled ears, grasped the bridle and galloped on, followed by old Cato and his red coat and curly horn.

I had ridden a cautious mile on the dim, leafy trail ere I picked up Van Horn, only to quit him. I had ridden full three before I caught sight of Dorothy, sitting her gray horse, head at gaze in my direction.

"What in the world set you tearing off through the forest like that?" I asked, laughing.

She turned her horse and we walked on, side by side.

"I wished to come," she said, simply. "The pleasures of this day must end only with the night. Besides, I was burning to ask you if it is true that you mean to stay here and serve with our militia?"

"I mean to stay," I said, slowly.

"And serve?"

"If they desire it."