Part 11 (1/2)

”What?”

”To see this rustic beauty, Penelope Grant----”

”Have I not refused to seek her for you?” I demanded.

”Yes, but not for yourself, Jack! Curiosity killed a cat and started a young man on his travels!”

Exasperated by her malice I struck my mare's flanks with moccasined heels; and as I rode out into the darkness Claudia's gaily mocking laugh floated after me on the still, sweet air.

CHAPTER VI

RUSTIC GALLANTRY

There were few lanterns and fewer candle lights in Johnstown; sober folk seemed to be already abed; only a constable, Hugh McMonts, stood in the main street, leaning upon his pike as I followed the new moon out of town and down into a dark and lovely land where all was still and fragrant and dim as the dreams of those who lie down contented with the world.

Now, as I jogged along on my mare, Kaya, over a well-levelled road, my mind was very full of what I had seen and heard at Johnson Hall.

One thing seemed clear to me; there could be no foundation for any untoward rumours regarding Sir John,--no fear that he meant to shame his honoured name and flee to Canada to join Guy Johnson and his Indians and the Tryon County Tories who already had fled.

No; Sir John was quietly planning his summer farming. All seemed tranquil at the Hall. And I could not find it in my nature to doubt his pledged word, nor believe that he was plotting mischief.

Still, it had staggered me somewhat to see Hiakatoo there in his ceremonial paint, as though the fire were still burning at Onondaga. But I concluded that the Seneca War Chief had come on some private affair and not for his nation, because a chief does not travel alone upon a ceremonial mission. No; this Indian had arrived to talk privately with Hare, who, no doubt, now represented Guy Johnson's late authority among the Johnstown Tories.

Thinking over these matters, I jogged into the Mayfield road; and as I pa.s.sed in between the tall wayside bushes, without any warning at all two shadowy hors.e.m.e.n rode out in front of me and threw their horses across my path, blocking it.

Instantly my hand flew to my hatchet, but at that same moment one of the tall riders laughed, and I let go my war-axe, ashamed.

”It's John Drogue!” said a voice I recognized, as I pushed my mare close to them and peered into their faces; and I discovered that these riders were two neighbors of mine, G.o.dfrey Shew of Fish House, and Joe de Golyer of Varick's.

”What frolic is this?” I demanded, annoyed to see their big pistols resting on their thighs and their belted hatchets loosened from the fringed sheaths.

”No frolic,” answered Shew soberly, ”though Joe may find it a matter for his French mirth.”

”Why do you stop folk at night on the King's highway?” I inquired curiously of de Golyer.

”Voyons, l'ami Jean,” he replied gaily, ”Sir Johnson and his Scottish bare-shanks, they have long time stop us on their sacre King's highway.

Now, in our turn, we stop them, by gar! Oui, nom de dieu! And we shall see what we shall see, and we shall catch in our little trap what shall step into it, pardieu!”

Shew said in his heavy voice: ”Our authorities in Albany have concluded to watch, for smuggled arms, the roads leading to Johnstown, Mr.

Drogue.”

”Do they fear treachery at the Hall?”

”They do not know what is going on at the Hall. But there are rumours abroad concerning the running in of arms for the Highlanders, and the constant pa.s.sing of messengers between Canada and Johnstown.”

”I have but left the Hall,” said I. ”I saw nothing to warrant suspicion.” And I told them who were there and how they conducted at supper.

Shew said with an oath that Lieutenant Hare was a dangerous man, and that he hoped a warrant for him would be issued.