CHAPTER XII
A NEST OF TORIES
"Hush!" whispered Phil warningly to Andy.
The latter was all a-quiver over the intense situation.
"Humph," muttered Andy. "I never could keep still and, balancing on this sharp beam, I'm worse than ever. My, those are two tough-looking fellows."
The men came stamping into the room, puffing and panting from their exertion in the deep snow. They indulged in some casual conversation about their journey and their satisfaction on reaching warmth and rest. They kicked off their overboots and sat down near the fire.
Phil instantly recognized one of the men as the fellow who had held him a prisoner near by the town hall in Lowell and the other as his original captor. Listening to the talk he learned that the former was named Peters, the latter Swithins.
Peters rested for a minute, then went over to the table to inspect the map tacked to it. He took up and read the note which Phil and Andy had already perused.
"Balfour has been here, Swithins," he reported. "He gives us a point to report and act on at once."
"What's that, Peters?" inquired the other man.
"Storm Cove. It seems he has arranged, and the boat will be met on signal by a true-blue. Some of the others have been here, too, it seems, according to the dots and crosses on the map."
"Good thing," commended Swithins. "Our bad break at Lowell was pretty discouraging. We can get square, though, by reaching the Vixen and rushing the landing through at Storm Cove."
"I'd like to get my hands on the fellow who knocked me down in the cellar," growled Peters, gritting his teeth savagely. "Those papers would have been a great haul. Besides, it's gotten the fellow in trouble who sold us the documents. It was a bad mess."
"Yes, and we missed finding out the message that boy had for Dr. Warren. It might have been something of vast importance to Gen. Gage, for, while we think we are doing great things, planting our supplies to make a vigorous raid through the colonies, trust me, those fellows, Warren, Adams and Hancock, aren't letting the grass grow under their feet."
"Oh, those two gritty boys were certainly spies, and no mistake," declared Peters.
"Well, what's the programme?"
"We'll rest a bit, put for the coast, hail the Vixen and get aboard. Then we will either go to Boston and report to headquarters, or, if so ordered, stay on the warship and help land these goods at Storm Cove."
"S—st!" again warned Phil. Andy had rustled about. Phil could readily guess the mental disquiet of his excitable friend. He surmised how intensely Andy was realizing that they had happened upon "a nest of Tories." Andy was naturally as brave as a lion, but he could not endure suspense. Phil was a good deal worried, for every time Andy rustled about particles of the tan bark dropped into the room below.
The Boston boy became very serious as he understood plainly that the affairs in which they were now mixed up were of the gravest import. The life of the colonies depended on knowing all that was possible about the plans of the Tories. Should the so-called "rebel" leaders be imprisoned, or the secrets of the Sons of Liberty and the Minute Men become known to Gen. Gage, it would weaken the patriot cause very much.
"The Britishers have had their spies everywhere," reflected Phil. "They have a regular organization of that class, and these men are at the head of it. They intend to land something at Storm Cove. We shall have a good deal to tell our friends when we reach Boston. Oh, the mischief!"
Peters and Swithins had settled themselves comfortably. The latter had taken out a small blank book to consult, and Phil was looking for some further secret developments when Peters jumped to his feet with a start.
"I say!" he cried, "what was that?"
"Whew!" uttered Andy recklessly.
"I guess we're in for it now," Phil told himself.
"Why, that was a horse's neigh," exclaimed Swithins, also arising to his feet. "Whose horse? What is he doing here?"
His partner had pulled open the shed door. He looked sharply at hungry old Dobbin, calling for oats. He retreated into the room, perplexed and suspicious.
"Don't like the look of things," he observed. "What's that, another horse up in the loft?" he cried suddenly.
"You've done it!" groaned Phil audibly.
"I reckon I have!" gasped Andy.
He had slipped off the beam, bending a piece of tan bark till it cracked in two. A piece of it had fallen on the head of the staring Peters. Now there was a gap in the ceiling.
"Some one up there," declared Swithins convincedly.
"Come down, you!" shouted Peters.
Phil and Andy did not respond.
"Come down, I say! You want this?"
Bang! Bang! Peters had pulled out his pistol, and two bullets, in quick succession, scattered the tan bark.