THERE was nothing about Mehitable as she trotted off through the down-pouring rain to indicate that she was any one but a plump little Colonial maid faring forth through disagreeable weather to Newark. The Indian had disappeared into the swamp, two sides of which Mehitable must skirt before her road led her up over the hills and down into the Town by the River. But she was neither surprised nor chagrined at her escort's vanishing—she had learned enough of Indian manners and methods by now to know that he would travel far and fast through the devious paths of the swamp and arrive at their joint destination long before he could, though he went by foot and she by horse.
Indeed, he had been a reluctant escort. Only her announcement, upon reading the note he had so mysteriously brought to her from Young Cy, that if he did not permit her to go with him to Newark upon a rescue mission she would follow him, had made him yield.
It must be confessed that Mehitable was enjoying herself. Save for a slight pricking of her conscience whenever she thought of Charity's sobbing, distracted little figure as the latter had tried in vain to stay her from carrying out her impetuous decision, the madcap trotted along in high good humor. This stirring war year, despite her outbursts and railings against it whenever she felt the pinch of it, had been as breath of life to her. Nothing suited her better than to be engaged in some dubious if not actually dangerous enterprise.
At last she reached Newark. It was when she had turned and was following the lane down into the mud of Market Street that she thought suddenly of Mistress Hicks and her poor old mother. And at that moment, as though she had conjured her physically out of that strange night and stranger visit of weeks ago, she beheld the old lady herself stepping briskly along upon her pattens, utterly oblivious, apparently, to the rain and the mud through which she was laboring.
In astonishment Mehitable reined in her horse when she and the old lady met face to face in the narrow lane.
"Art not Mistress Hicks's mother?" exclaimed the girl, staring.
The old lady, brought perforce to a sudden stop, peered back at her composedly. "Aye," she nodded.
"But—but—the night be so rainy and—and"
Mehitable's stammered words died away into puzzled silence. Everything about the old lady was different. As old, as frail as when she had last seen her in Mistress Hicks's kitchen, there were now sense and alertness in the bright old eyes that looked up at her unwaveringly. Those eyes were studying the girl as keenly, as shrewdly as any one could have done.
"What matters rain," answered the old lady contemptuously, "if one finds chances to serve one's country! Art going to the town center, child?"
"Aye, mistress." Still staring, Mehitable nodded.
"Then perhaps canst deliver a message to Master Gifford from me?" She looked swiftly, furtively around her, then came closer. "Tell him that the pewter service set be ready for him; I doubt not 'twill make very fine bullets! and he is to get word to Captain Littell that the new uniforms are ready, also, together with the silver I promised him. Canst remember all that?"
"Aye," stammered Mehitable. "But—but—I thought"
"You thought me daft!" guessed the old lady with a chuckle. "So did many wiser than you, child. 'Tis easier to pretend daftness than to argue, forsooth, with those who love to fret and scold!"
"Art not afraid Mistress Hicks will scold you now?" Mehitable could not refrain from asking, though she did not mean to be pert.
The old lady smiled grimly, not in the least offended. "Mistress Hicks has been sent to join her husband, one o' 'Skinner's Greens,' on Staten Island, by His Excellency's orders," she returned dryly.
"And she left you alone in that big house!" exclaimed Mehitable.
"'Twas no fault o' hers!" retorted the other sharply. "Mistress Hicks be not that selfish! 'Twas I refused to go!"
Obviously, criticize her daughter as she pleased, the old lady would allow no one else that privilege. Embarrassedly, Mehitable began to apologize; but, mollified at once, the old lady waved her hand amiably.
"There, that be all right," she said briskly. She plunged her hand into her reticule swinging upon her arm and thrust three small round objects into the girl's hand.
"Nay, Mother would like it not an I accepted money," protested Mehitable uncomfortably.
"Look before ye speak, child!" retorted the old lady tartly; but she chuckled at Mehitable's expression when the latter, opening her hand, discovered that, instead of silver coins, she held three hard peppermints. Then, still chuckling, she turned upon her pattens and marched back up the lane that led to Mistress Hicks's house, while Mehitable, brightening at the delicious taste as she placed a peppermint upon her tongue, clucked to her horse and cantered on through Newark.
But drawing up before the Hunters and the Hounds tavern she paused to stare in amazement, for just as she had drawn near the taproom door had flown open and a man's meager figure, as though booted by a tremendous angry foot, fell past her into the street. A roaring voice followed the figure, and Master Gifford, red-faced and angry, stood glaring in the doorway.
"There, ye rapscallion!" he shouted. "An I ever find ye upon my land again 'twill be the hanging rope will catch ye! Get up, ye dirty even my good, wholesome mud!"
Then, as the sneaking, sordid figure righted itself and started to run, Mehitable saw that it was the inn servant, Sturgins. Before she turned back to his master, she caught a malevolent look from him.
"A bad one!" she observed, shuddering in spite of herself. The inn master came forward to take her horse; but she shook her head.
"Nay, I tarry but to leave a message with you. It is this: Mistress Hicks's mother—I know not her name—said to tell you the pewter service to melt into bullets be ready for you and that you are to get word to Captain Littell that the new uniforms, together with the silver, be ready for him. There"—Mehitable knitted her brows—"I think that was all!"
Master Gifford threw back his head to laugh. "That old lady be as smart as any! And to think she feigned daftness so well that her own daughter, a shrew if I know one, believed her to be daft!"
"Aye, a clever one, she!" agreed Mehitable. She wheeled her horse. Already the spring dusk was deepening into darkness. "But now I give ye good-night, sir!"
Before the good innkeeper could protest or offer her an escort, she had galloped off up Broad Street, past the Green with its space for military training, past the triangular plot of land given over to the farmers and known as the marketplace, to turn eastward on Bridge Street, though the bridge over the Passaic River had been missing since that November night when, in a retreat, the Americans had burned it behind them, thus gaining a few days respite in Newark before marching on to Elizabeth Town, while the British, fuming and helpless, had been forced to bivouac upon the other shore.
Arrived at the river front and pausng to gaze around at her lonely surroundings, she found the Indian unexpectedly at her bridle. She gave a start at his appearance but had the good sense to remain silent as he led her horse along the narrow path beside the river bank. Crunch! splash! crunch! they went along. She shivered miserably as the sodden folds of her wet cape swung against her knee. Were they never going to stop!
At last the Indian came to a halt and pointed out into the darkness.
"Boat out there!" he announced.
But strain her eyes as she might Mehitable could see nothing. Only the lapping of water, the sighing of the wind could be heard.
"Art sure this be the place?" asked the girl, a little peevishly. Then she started. For the Indian, without replying, had disappeared into the dense shadows of some underbrush. Only a moment passed and he was back.
"Boat out there," he repeated. And this time there was certainty in his voice. "I go—swim," he continued simply.
Before Mehitable could protest, then, he was gone once more and she was left to her own dismal thoughts. Long minutes passed. Poor Mehitable sighed wearily, yawned, shivered, yawned again. And at her second yawn a mocking voice whispered at her elbow.
"'Tis indeed a boresome way to pass ye time, mistress! Mayhap we can show ye other ways!"
Mehitable stifled a shriek and looked down. Standing beside her horse—and how he had gotten there unnoticed was more than she ever knew!—was a tall, burly man she never seen before, while behind him, grinning at her insolently through the shadows, lurked the squat, shifty-eyed inn servant, Sturgins.
Instinctively she jerked at her horse's bridle, dug her sturdy little heels into his sides. It was too late! In a trice she had been torn from her saddle, smothered in some sort of a garment with her hands clasped to her sides, and borne swiftly away in strong arms—whither, she knew not! She only knew that the evil-smelling cloth was strangling her, so that when she cried out, the sound beat impotently upon its folds, while her struggles were as an infant's against the cruel strength of those arms!
It seemed to her that she must have been carried for miles before the terrifying cloth over her head was removed and she was set down roughly upon her feet. But as she stood gasping and blinking she reahzed in amazement that she had been carried only as far as some fir trees beside the river edge and there concealed so that no one approaching by the path or by water could see her. She looked up to find the tall, hard-faced stranger beside her and heard Sturgins carefully leading her horse to a similar hiding place.
"Now, Jaffray," began Sturgins, when he joined them, "do ye not think this bodes trouble from the ship? 'Tis well we arrived!"
"Hush ye!" growled Jaffray, fiercely. "Babbling fool!"
In the pregnant silence which followed, Mehitable stared up at her captor curiously and, it must be admitted, with a little shiver of disagreeable surprise. So this was the man who had so cruelly kidnapped her tender little sister, who had carried away poor Young Cy, too! As she gazed fierce hatred was bred in the girl's heart. She resolved that somewhere, somehow, she would pay him back in his own coin.
But now she stood still, waiting and listening even as they waited and listened. At last the cautious dip of oars sounded, then the grating of a boat against the river bank. At the same instant, Jaffray thrust a twisted piece of cloth into her unsuspecting mouth, and before she could cry out she was powerless to do so, for she was gagged.
"Tie the wench's hands behind her!" ordered Jaffray sharply, and while he crept forward Sturgins came close and with no more feeling than if he had been tying a watch dog jerked Mehitable's hands behind her back, despite her struggles, and tied them securely.
She was sick at heart! She had been planning to call out a warning, but the two unscrupulous rascals had guessed her purpose. She watched in helpless agony when a tall, slim figure whom she recognized as Young Cy came up the bank only to be overborne by the villain Jaffray. But, unexpectedly. Young Cy, after rolling down the bank beneath the heavier man, got to his feet and succeeded in getting away. Whereupon two other men, sitting in the rowboat, were ordered ashore by the angry sloop captain, and when one of them, feeble and more slow than the other, stumbled, Jaffray clipped him upon the side of the head and he fell into the mud. Dragging him up to the path Jaffray threw him aside. When Mehitable could tear away her horrified eyes, she saw that Sturgins was tying the other man's hands behind his back, whom she now recognized as her father. Then the victorious ones disappeared into the darkness, doubtless bent upon finding and capturing Young Cy.
The girl crept over to her father.
"Hitty, lass! You here!" Squire Condit gave a great start and then a groan. His eyes seemed to be trying to disbelieve what they saw.
"What be the matter? Why do you not speak?" Then he saw that she was gagged and his eyes flashed.
"Canst kneel behind me?" he continued. "Mayhap my hands, bound as they are, can unloosen the gag."
Just as Mehitable was about to obey, however, Sturgins appeared and with unexpected humanity told the girl roughly that he would remove the gag.
"'Twill do no hurt, now, in sooth," he said indifferently. Saying which, he cut the cloth away with his knife and vanished once more into the darkness. After he had gone, father and daughter kissed each other, and for a short time each was too overcome to do more than murmur brokenly. Then Squire Condit straightened himself determinedly.
"Best see to poor Master Jones, lass. He has been sore wounded and I fear that brute has hurt him again!"
"Nay, Squire!" The other man spoke calmly from where he lay upon the wet ground. "I did not like to interfere with your greetings. How are ye, Hitty, my dear? And how is my wife? Canst tell me if she still lives?"
Mehitable went to him. "Ah, Master Jones," she said pitifully, "if only I could loosen this hemp upon my wrists and so help ye! Your wife lives—mayhap that news will help ye!"
"Fret not, Hitty! I can bear the pain, now!" But through his brave words the girl guessed the agony which he was bearing.
There was a crashing among the bushes and soon Jaffray burst through them, dragging Young Cy after him.
"Knave!" The boy's voice was hoarse from rage. "Ye have broken the word ye pledged Cunningham, to deliver us safe at Newark!"
Jaffray scowled. "So you, young turkey-cock, were about to escape! 'Tis lucky I decided to turn back this night!"
Mehitable ran forward. Young Cy stared at her.
"Why—why—Hitty!" he stammered. Then he turned furiously upon Jaffray. "Call thyself a man o' honor," he shouted, "and still make war upon women and children!"
Jaffray scowled again. "Wert thou the one to remove that gag, Sturgins?" he snapped.
Young Cy whirled swiftly. "So, Sturgins—you, too, eh! Ye were in league with Jaffray that day I fell gull to his trickery!"
"Why, so I was, master!" Sturgins opened his wide mouth gawkishly and grinned in the other's face. "What be going to do about it?"
"This!" Suddenly Young Cy swung his hands above his head. Too late the conspirators saw that those hands had been forgotten, that they were free. And not only free, but that a short, heavy club was in them! Before either Jaffray or Sturgins could move, Young Cy brought the club heavily down upon the latter's head and had sprung away once more into the bushes.
"After him!" shouted Jaffray. But Sturgins lay like a log where he had fallen, and the older man, cursing, was forced to leave the other prisoners unguarded and so run after the boy. He was soon back, unsuccessful.
"Eh, fool?" he muttered, going over to Sturgins and prodding him with his foot. "Art feigning this stupor."
Sturgins drew a shuddering breath, then, at a second kick, started up angrily.
"Nay, I be feignin' nawthin'!" he snarled, then he uttered a horrified, bewildered cry. "Oddzooks, I cannot see! Is the night so dark now?"
Jaffray glanced at him impatiently. "The night is as it was, fool!" he said shortly. "What dost mean thou cannot see?"
"I cannot see!" Sturgins was, by now, staggering around in a frantic circle with his groping hands held out before him, while the others watched him in amazement. "Oh, my sight has fled! Destruction be upon me! I be blind!"
"The blow!" Those groaning words burst from Master Jones.
Jaffray caught the panic-stricken figure in rude grasp.
"Stop thy silly woman talk o' blindness and stop rushing hither and yon!" he barked. "Let me look at thy eyes!" He snapped the other's head back to peer into his face. Then, with a laugh, he threw the smaller man aside. "Come, 'tis naught! Thy eyes look as good as mine own! Art feigning this, I'll warrant, to escape taking ye prisoners back to Tolliver's place—'tis thy lazy way an work be given ye!"
"But I tell ye" Sturgins's voice rose to a hysterical howl, so that Jaffray suddenly stepped close to him and clapped his hand over his mouth, and the howl died away into a gurgle. When he removed his hand Sturgins was mouthing gibberish which made Mehitable feel ill, so terrible were the despair and the fright it bore.
"There, enough!" But now Jaffray's tones held a tinge of uneasiness. "Enough, I say!" He repeated it sharply, for Sturgins had sunk into the mud upon his knees and was clasping Jaffray's legs. "If it be true thou art blind—then 'twas indeed the blow that did it! And that boy shall pay!"
Sturgins, however, was beyond comfort. He threw himself upon the ground and rolled around in an agony more mental than physical for, excepting the blackness which had swooped upon him so suddenly, he had no pain. He kept crying, "My eyes! My eyes!" but it was merely hysteria.
Jaffray turned toward the others ominously. "Get ye going!" he ordered. "I must e'en deliver ye to Tolliver myself, since this fool can't!"
These callous words did not reach the ears of the distracted Sturgins. He was beyond all human goading now. He was weeping and beating frantically upon the ground, not knowing what he was doing.
After a long, painful walk the sad little party reached tumble-down farmhouse. When the door opened at Jaffray's kick, they all passed into a sparely furnished room where upon a broken-down table gleamed a candle that vied with the firelight in giving them welcome.
"Now, Tolliver," Jaffray spoke sharply to the undersized, shrinking man who had admitted them as Master Jones sank wearily upon a chair which Mehitable got for him, "I leave these prisoners in your care for the nonce. I must return for that fool, Sturgins."
"But where is Sturgins?" objected the other timidly. "I expected his help in guarding these prisoners."
Jaffray scowled. "Guard them yourself!" he ordered crossly, slamming the door as he went out.
There was silence a moment, then Tolliver's cringing manner dropped from him. When Mehitable turned toward him, she was amazed to see that behind his steel-rimmed spectacles there dwelt a hidden, kindly twinkle.
"Wilt not come nearer to the fire, mistress?" he asked courteously.
"Why"—Mehitable's mouth remained open—"art Tory, sir, and so nice!"
Tolliver laughed quietly. "Not all Tories are moulded upon our friend Jaffray's pattern," he suggested. "Wilt have this chair?"
But Mehitable shook her head, begging him to give it to Master Jones. His attention directed to the pathetic wounded figure of the latter, Tolliver looked grim. He bent over the other, the girl watching with bated breath, not knowing what he was about to do.
"Bad work here. I fear," he muttered at last, his fingers still poking at the blood-stained bandages binding Master Jones's thigh. The sufferer opened his eyes.
"Ye feel like a surgeon, sir," he whispered.
"Dost know the touch, eh?" Tolliver was pleased. Then he straightened himself. "With quick work here, young mistress, we may wash and dress this man's wounds before Jaffray's return!"
"But you, a Tory, to help us thus!" Mehitable gasped.
"Nay, stare not so," admonished Tolliver. With deft fingers he was already ripping the cloths from about the wound. "Sometimes one can serve one's country best by appearing traitor to her!"
They had no sooner gotten through their hurried task than Tolliver bent his head to listen intently. He shoved the basin of warm water and the roll of bandages he had been using into a corner then.
Mehitable and her father, who had heard nothing, looked at him doubtfully; but it was not long before they too heard the clamor Sturgins was making as he and Jaffray approached. The girl looked at her host admiringly.
"I vow, sir, ye have ears like an Indian's!" she exclaimed.
But as she gazed at him, Tolliver's expression changed suddenly and horribly. Even as she looked, the kindly smile faded from his thin face and a ferocious, cruel look took its place. She gaped at him in horror until the sound of an opening door gave her the clue and she realized that Tolliver's expression was a mask for Jaffray's benefit.
So great was the force with which the latter banged the door that a cracked windowpane loosened in its frame and fell tinkling to the floor. But a curious sound followed—a whirring, winged sound that seemed to come from the broken window. Then, as they heard it, Jaffray threw up his arms and dropped heavily to the floor.
For a moment they all stared at him stupidly, save Sturgins. Then Mehitable, glancing up, caught a glimpse of a keen dark face at the broken window and realized, with a start, that she had not reckoned with the Indian. Though even as she looked the Indian's face disappeared!