The Young Continentals at Lexington

It was high noon next day when Ezra Prentiss slipped Mr. Adams’ private despatch to Dr. Warren into his saddle-bag. Mr. Revere already had the resolutions passed by Congress, and the two, together with Nat Brewster and Ben Cooper, climbed into their saddles. Then they waved their hands to those gathered in front of the City Tavern to see them off.

“Remember what I’ve told you about my letter and make all speed,” said Mr. Adams, as a last word. “It is to be given to Dr. Warren alone, as it is of great importance.”

This was said in a low tone as the statesman stood at Ezra’s stirrup; but Nat Brewster, who sat his horse next to Ezra’s, caught the words; and likewise he heard the boy’s reply.

“I understand its urgency and its importance as well,” said Ezra, gravely. “There shall be no delay on the way north, and Dr. Warren alone shall receive the message.”

They took their way northward at a fairly easy pace, as Paul Revere cautioned them not to press their horses too hard.

“Since I’ve taken to riding from city to city for the various committees,” said that gentleman, “I’ve had much experience. And it has shown me that a soft pace in a long journey is the swiftest in the end. Also, it is the least laborious and anxious, for you haven’t a broken nag to help along toward the finish.”

The sun shone wonderfully and the breeze blew in their faces with delightful freshness. Ben Cooper longed to put Molly at her best, for her dancing along the road showed that her spirit was as high as his own.

“Where do we make the first stop?” inquired Nat, of Revere.

“We should reach Bristol at sundown or a little before,” replied the man.

“Bristol!” cried Ben. “Why, we could make——”

But Revere interrupted him.

“I know,” said he. “So we could. And we could make some other place, equally far off, to-morrow. Then we could sit for a couple of days at an inn and twiddle our thumbs while the saddle-galls were healing or the nag’s swollen legs going down.”

Ben felt properly rebuked; but he laughed good humoredly.

“I guess you’re right,” said he. “So you’ll have to content yourself as you are, Molly,” to the frisky mare. “You’ve never been on so long a journey as this; and maybe at the end you’ll be sedate enough.”

As they struck into the long, dusty wagon roads some distance north of Philadelphia, Revere and Ezra rode on ahead. After a time, the watchful Nat noted a marked peculiarity in the manner of Ezra. The latter had been very quiet and thoughtful since leaving the city; and now there was an anxiety in his whole attitude that could not be mistaken. Even the unsuspecting Ben noticed it.

“Wonder what’s wrong with Ezra,” he said, with a laugh. “He keeps turning his head from one side to the other as though it had been shaken loose.”

“He is entrusted with a document of some importance,” said Nat quietly. “Perhaps he is a little anxious for its safety.”

Ben laughed once more.

“Why, to hear you talk,” said he, “one would think we were actually at war. Why should he feel anxious for the safety of the message? Who knows anything of it but us? And then,” gaily, “if he thought this was a bad way to come, why did he argue with Mr. Revere, who wanted to come by another way?”

“Ah,” said Nat, thoughtfully, “did he do that?”

“For half an hour. And do you know, he grew actually warm about it, just as though it greatly mattered.”

There was silence for a little while, and then Ben suddenly exclaimed:

“Hello! What’s that for?”

Nat had unbuckled the flap of a holster and loosened the heavy pistol which had been so lately the property of Mr. Chew.

“It’s my backwoods nature, I suppose,” said Nat, carelessly. “Up in Wyoming the wild things and the Indians never allow us to travel without firearms ready to hand, and I don’t feel quite comfortable otherwise.”

“I should think that long rifle would be enough to take with you through a settled country,” said Ben, nodding toward the weapon which his cousin carried slung across his shoulders.

“It would be ordinarily. But it is not quite handy enough on horseback.”

Ben looked at the speaker with his usual good-natured grin.

“Well, all I can say,” remarked he, “is that it must be in the air. If Mr. Revere begins to take notions about things also, why, I’ll have to take general charge of the party, that’s all.”

When the shadows began to lengthen by the roadside and thicken among the clumps of trees and tall brush, they were still some miles south of Bristol. The Delaware rippled smoothly on the right, and here and there the filled sail of a sloop could be seen as it made its way up river with wind and tide.

“What building is that ahead?” asked Nat, after a time.

They had rounded a bend in the road, and a stone structure, smoke-begrimed and forlorn looking, showed itself blackly against the sky-line.

“I don’t know,” replied Ben. “I’ve never traveled this route before. But it looks like a burned mill or something of the sort.”

There are things and there are persons whom one naturally suspects; there may be no reason for it that one can see, but still the suspicion grows stronger and stronger; and often it turns out that there is cause for it. When they came in sight of the ruined mill, frowning gloomily out upon the road, Nat Brewster felt just such a suspicion growing in his mind. More than once, among his native hills in the north, he had run upon an ambuscade—a crouching panther perhaps; and once a murderous red man. And so it was a kind of second nature to him to regard suspicious places with caution and to advance upon them with his eyes wide open.

Accordingly, as they rode toward the burned building, he eyed it narrowly; when they were within fifty yards of it his vigilance was rewarded, for he caught sight of a man’s head cautiously lifted above the edge of one of the openings that were once windows.

Instantly the boy struck his spurs into the tall black; the animal, startled, fought for its head, and finding that the strong hand upon the rein did not give an inch, it raced forward. A score of bounds brought it alongside of Ezra and Mr. Revere, and they, surprised at the sudden burst of speed, were turning their heads, when:

“Halt!” said Nat, sharply.

With astonishment written large upon his face, Revere obeyed, and Ezra did the same.

“What is it?” asked the rider from Boston. “Has anything gone wrong?”

Nat drew his pistol from the holster and coolly examined the priming.

“I don’t know,” replied he. “But it’s rather likely. Just ahead there is a person—perhaps several of them—who seems interested in us, in a cautious sort of way.”

As he spoke his keen eyes went to the face of Ezra; he saw it pale and the mouth twitch.

“It would be best,” proceeded Nat, evenly, “for you all to remain as you are. I’ll ride forward and look into matters a trifle.”

He was about to do so, but upon second thought checked his horse.

“Are you armed, Mr. Revere?” he inquired.

“I am,” answered the rider, promptly, and out came a squat, serviceable looking pistol.

“Good,” said Nat. Then he took the rifle from about his shoulders and threw it to Ben, who had ridden up and sat listening in silent amazement. “It’s loaded and ready,” proceeded the young mountaineer, “and it shoots straight, as you know. Cover my advance.”

With that he spoke to the black; the animal trotted forward; and when it reached the ruin, Nat drew it in and turned, facing the structure from the middle of the road.

“Hello!” cried the boy. “Hello, inside there!”

He waited, but there was no answer.

Then he tried again.

“Hello! Don’t think that your keeping silent will deceive me. I know you’re there.”

Still there was no answer. Down the road, Nat saw his three companions, their horses abreast, anxiously watching him. He smiled when he saw the alert posture of Ben, the long rifle in his hands, for Nat knew that his cousin shot with unerring skill, and that he could rest safe under the protection thus afforded. Once more he turned his gaze upon the ruin.

“I’ll give you a minute,” continued he. “If you’re not out in that time, I’m coming in.”

This had immediate results. In the broken doorway of the burned mill appeared a half dozen men; and behind them Nat made out a burly figure which he at once recognized as that of Royce.

“Well,” inquired one of the men, sullenly, “what do you want?”

“I want to have nothing to say to you, sir, at all events,” replied Nat, readily. Then lifting his voice a trifle, he continued: “Stand forward, Mr. Royce. Don’t be backward.”

The man at once pushed his way to the front. His coarse, large-featured face was inflamed and angry looking.

“So it’s you, is it?” growled he, his fierce eyes glowering wickedly. “I thought I recognized your voice.”

Nat laughed.

“And I rather thought I recognized your face as you took that little observation from the window a few moments ago.”

“Well, what do you want?” asked Royce. “We can’t be detained here all day by a whipper-snapper like you.”

“I wouldn’t think of detaining you,” replied Nat. “I merely desired to make sure that I and my friends met with no reception that we were not prepared for.”

As he spoke he lifted his hand and beckoned his comrades forward. As they came up at a trot, Revere and Ben holding their weapons ready, Nat said to them:

“I think you’d better ride on while I stay for a little further talk with these gentlemen. Ben, you may halt fifty yards away.”

There was that in the speaker’s manner that showed Revere that he was perfectly competent to carry out any plan that he had made. And so the convention’s messenger nodded his head and rode along up the road with the two boys.

Nat Brewster would have given a great deal to have seen Ezra Prentiss’ face at that moment. But he dared not take his eyes from the sullen, muttering group in the doorway of the mill. He smiled as he heard the hoofs of his companions’ horses rattling away. To Royce he said:

“It seems, Mr. Royce, that our arrangements clash now and then.”

“Yes,” replied the man, loweringly, “and take care that it does not happen once too often.”

“I think the care should be upon your part, if you value yourself at all,” said Nat. “If I had spread the news abroad of your attempt of a week ago, the people of Philadelphia would have torn you apart.”

“If they had caught me,” sneered the man.

“At least they would have caught Mr. Dimisdale and a few others. And I have no doubt that you, also, could have been taken, had enough people been so minded. There is too much bitterness in the public mind to tolerate such plots as you are engaged in.”

“You seem to know a great deal,” said Royce.

“Much more, perhaps, than you even think,” returned Nat. “But I’ll not put you to the trouble of listening to it all: I’ll just say that any message intended for a good patriot is going to reach him. Make no mistake about that.”

Then, as the rage of Royce grew greater and a look of astonishment went around the others, Nat continued:

“Now I’ll bid you good-evening. But first I’ll ask you,” and he never took his eyes from them, “to look up the road. There, I have no doubt, you will see a lad with a rifle.”

The followers of Royce and Royce himself gazed up the road as directed; and from their expressions Nat gathered that Ben was waiting there with the long weapon ready.

“He,” continued the young mountaineer, “is going, so to speak, to cover my retreat. And as I’ve never known him to miss a shot, I warn you to be very careful what you do.”

And with that he turned his back fearlessly upon them, gave rein to his horse and rode toward Ben, who was dismounted and planted in the roadway, the rifle at his shoulder.

When his cousin came up, young Cooper said:

“I say, now, what is all this about?”

“You’ll know in good time,” replied Nat. Molly stood grazing at the roadside; he took her rein and continued: “I’ll take the mare with me. You come along with your face to them until we get out of pistol shot. They haven’t any heavier arms that I could see.”

Ben followed these orders carefully. When they had moved out of range of any stray shot, he remounted and slung the rifle before him, a complaint plain upon his face.

“I’ll know in good time, will I?” said he, in an injured tone. “Now, I want you to understand, Nat Brewster, that I’m not to be treated as a child. If I’m old enough to keep these men from shooting you in the back, I’m also old enough to be told who they are and what they were after.”

Nat laughed.

“Why,” said he, “that sounds like good sense. And I suppose I’ll have to tell you. But, remember,” warningly, “it goes no farther.”

“All right,” spoke Ben, “I promise.”

“They are the same men that I met at the inn on the ferry road,” Nat told him. “And, while I’m not sure, I think they were waiting for Ezra.”

“For Ezra!” Ben stared, open-eyed.

“To relieve him of the message he’s carrying to Dr. Warren.”

“I see,” said Ben, soberly. Then they rode forward in silence until they overtook their companions.

“The ruffians,” exclaimed Revere, warmly. “I had not thought that thieves were so bold in these parts.”

“Common thieves are not, I suppose,” said Nat, quietly.

Revere continued to fume and mutter as they rode along toward Bristol, the housetops of which were gradually coming into view. Ben was now riding with him and Ezra had fallen back until his mount was abreast of Nat’s.

“You think, then,” said Ezra, and his tone was low, “that those men were not common thieves.”

“I do,” replied Nat. “A man’s purse would be safe with them, I feel sure. Something of greater value was in their minds, I feel sure.”

“So do I,” replied Ezra. He looked at Nat steadily for a moment and then said with a faint smile, “You’ve met those men before?”

“Yes,” quietly.

“I felt sure that you had. And do you recall some words which I spoke after you told me of that meeting?”

The words that had struck both himself and his uncle as veiling a threat at once recurred to him.

“You mean,” said Nat, “those regarding the disposition of some to reward a good service, and of others to repay an evil?”

“I see you remember it,” said Ezra, and he smiled into Nat’s face. “So I need not repeat it now.”