Part 22 (1/2)

I shook hands with Joe Scott; Nick took leave of his big, gaunt father.

We both looked at Dries Bowman, but he had turned away in pretense of firing the torch.

”Good-bye, Brent-Meester!” cried little Johnny Stoner in his childish treble, as we started down the stony way toward the town below.

Johnstown streets were full of people and every dwelling, shop, and tavern lighted brightly as we came into the village.

Mounted troopers of the Albany Horse guarded every street or clattered to and fro in search, they told us, of hidden arms and supplies.

Soldiers of the regiments of Colonels Dayton and Livingston, too, were to be seen everywhere, some guarding the jail, some encamped before the Court House, others occupying suspected dwellings and taverns notorious as Tory nests.

Such inhabitants as were known friends to liberty roamed about the streets or stood in knots under the trees, whispering together and watching the soldiers. But Tories and their families remained indoors, peering sullenly from their windows and sometimes scowling upon these soldiers of a new nation, within the confines of which they already were discovering that no place remained for any friend to England or her King.

As my little file of riflemen pa.s.sed on moccasined feet through the swarming streets of Johnstown, soldiers and townspeople gazed curiously after us, surmising immediately what might be our errand. And many greeted us or called out pleasantries after us, such as, ”Hearkaway! The red fox will fool you yet!” And, ”Dig him out, you wolf-hounds! He's gone to earth at Sacandaga!”

Many soldiers cheered us, swinging their c.o.c.ked hats; and Nick Stoner and Johnny Silver swung their c.o.o.n-tailed caps in return, shouting the wolf-cry of the Coureur-du-Bois--”Yik-yik-hoo-hoolo--o!”

And now we pa.s.sed the slow-moving baggage waggons of Colonel Livingston's regiment, toiling up from Caughnawaga, the sleepy teamsters nodding, and armed soldiers drowsing behind, who scarce opened one eye as we trotted by them and out into the darkness of the Mayfield road.

Now, in this dim and starlit land, we moved more slowly, for the road lay often through woods where all was dark; and among us none had fetched any lantern.

It was close to midnight, I think, when we were challenged; and I knew we were near the new Block House, because I heard the creek, very noisy in the dark, and smelled English gra.s.s.

The sentinel held us very firmly and bawled to his fellow, who arrived presently with a lantern; and we saw the grist-mill close to us, with its dripping wheel and the high flume belching water.

When they were satisfied, I asked for news and they told us they had seen none of Sir John's people, but that a carriage carrying two ladies had nigh driven over them, refusing to halt, and that they had been ashamed to fire on women.

He informed us, further, that a sergeant and five men of Colonel Dayton's regiment had arrived at the Block House and would remain the night.

”Also,” said one of the men, ”we caught a girl riding a fine horse this morning, who gave an account that she came from Fonda's Bush and was servant to Douw Fonda at Caughnawaga.”

”Where is the horse?” I asked.

”Safe stabled in the new fort.”

”Where is the girl?”

”Well,” said he, ”she sits yonder eating soupaan in the fort, and all the Continentals making moon-eyes at her.”

”That's my horse,” said I shortly. ”Take your lantern and show her to me.”

One of the militia men picked up the lantern, which had been burning on the gra.s.s between us, and I followed along the bank of the creek.

Presently I saw the Block House against the stars, but all loops were shuttered and no light came from them.

There was a ditch, a bridge of three logs, a stockade not finished; and we pa.s.sed in between the palings where a gateway was to be made, and where another militia-man sat guard on a chopping block, cradling his fire-lock between his knees, fast asleep.

The stable was but a shed. Kaya turned her head as I went to her and made a soft little noise of welcome, and fell a-lipping me and rubbing her velvet nose against me.

”The Scotch girl cared for your mare and fed her, paying four pence,”