The Musket Boys of Old Boston

CLOSE QUARTERS

"What now?" inquired Phil.

"Look for yourself," cried his companion. "House without an owner, ready made fire to order, table with reversible top. What next, I wonder! Why, just that—look."

Andy took up the board from the floor and placed it wrong side up on the table frame. Then both boys stood staring down at it most curiously.

Tacked to the surface was a large sheet of paper. It seemed to be a map. There was a coast line and various stars and dots which seemed to indicate especial points, like cities or towns.

"Why," said Phil slowly, "this looks to me like a map of the state north of Boston. Here's Boston, here's Lowell and Salem,—in fact all the towns grouped around Boston to the north. Queer, isn't it, Andy?"

"I should say so. See, here's something more."

Andy with his finger nail poked out a small folded paper slip from between tacks which held down the map. He opened this. It was in pencil writing, and it read:

"What does this mean, Phil?" inquired Andy, speculative and serious. "It sounds like smuggling, but what the map and the letter are doing in this out of the way place, bless me if I can understand!" and Andy rubbed his head in perplexity.

Phil did not reply at once, for his eye, wandering reflectively, had lit on some scraps of paper lying on the hearth, just disclosed as his feet accidentally disturbed a piece of firewood. He stooped and gathered up these fragments with the remark:

"Some one has been tearing up a letter. These pieces may tell us something."

For fully half-an-hour Phil and Andy tried to piece the paper fragments together, but this they found they could not accomplish, as a part of the torn-up document had evidently been burned in the fire. Many times, however, they deciphered the names of "Gen. Gage," "Boston," "rebels," "spies," and the like.

"There is one thing certain," declared Phil finally, "some one in the interest of the British has been in this house. If I ventured a guess, I would say that this is a sort of rendezvous for emissaries of the British. They may make this lonely spot a place to meet and report, exchange notes and receive instructions."

"If that's so," cried Andy excitedly, "at any moment a whole nest of Tories may come pouncing down on us!"

"That's right, Andy," assented Phil. "Whether or not, though, we can't go back out into the storm, and I doubt if anybody is anxious to tramp through two feet of snow to this place. We had better try and get a little sleep, hoping it will clear up in the morning."

"All right," acceded Andy willingly, with a tired yawn. "I declare, my head aches with all these adventures and mysteries we are running into!"

They took off their coats and shoes and placed them near the fireplace to dry. Then, each arranging a wooden pillow, they got as near as they could within the circle of warmth, and soon dozed into comfort and rest.

The sun was shining through the south window of the house when Phil awoke and stirred Andy. Phil went into the shed, gave the horse a few oats he found at the bottom of their provender bag, and returned to the room with a little package containing some bread and cheese.

"That's just an appetizer," observed Andy, smacking his lips over the light lunch. "Let's get on our way, Phil. I've got to reach a breakfast of some sort soon. We can't be very far from some traveled road. What is it, Phil?" he inquired as his companion, at the window, peering out, uttered a sharp ejaculation, and shook the sash to knock off some snow on its outside so that he could look out more clearly.

"Andy," answered Phil quickly, "some one is coming!"

"Coming here?" exclaimed Andy, springing to the side of his comrade. "Two men!"

"I know them both," cried Phil. "Andy, sure as you live, those are the two men we had the trouble with near the town hall at Lowell."

"We're in for it," said Andy, dreadfully excited. "They have followed us here."

"Scarcely," dissented the more level-headed Phil. "Their coming here is of course an accident so far as we are concerned."

"I guess you're right," said Andy. "It shows one guess correct, though. This is a rendezvous for the Britishers. Why wouldn't they come here? Now what are we going to do?"

Phil could not readily reply. They stood watching the two men plowing through the snow at some distance. There was no question with Phil but that they were the same persons with whom he had experienced trouble at Lowell.

"Get back from the window, Andy," directed the Boston boy. "They may see us."

"Suppose they do? They are bound to, sooner or later, aren't they?" demanded his chum.

"Well, we needn't invite our fate until it is closer upon us," philosophically observed Phil. "That's our chance," he continued. "Grab up your coat and shoes and bolt with me, Andy."

Phil had run for the ladder leading to the attic. Andy followed him quickly. Once in the low loft overhead, Phil replaced the ceiling scuttle carefully. Andy crept away from it.

"I say," he observed, "go slow. The beams are about six feet apart. The covering is only strips of tan bark, and they sag like slippery elm."

"Steady, Andy, get directly over a beam as near as you can."

"I'm fixed," reported Andy.

Phil posted himself several feet away from Andy, so that their weight would not be bulked. He was a trifle uneasy. They knew nothing as to the plans or dispositions of the men they had seen at Lowell and now approaching the hut. It seemed impossible that they would not be discovered if the new visitors remained any length of time.

The way the tan bark bent and rustled and sifted down into the room below startled Phil. There were a dozen breaks in the flooring, and Phil could easily keep the door in sight. Upon this he fixed his eyes, expectantly and anxiously.

A moment or two later the door was pushed open. There was a prodigious stamping of feet, and the sounds of heavy, tired breathing.

"Thunder!" exclaimed one voice—"that was a hard tramp."

"Yes," echoed the other. "If royal old King George don't pay us well for this bit of work, we'll sell out to the enemy!"