Part 9 (1/2)

”Ask Horrock,” I said bluntly. He turned to the grim-visaged retainer, laying his hand familiarly on the old man's shoulder.

”Horrock begs me to ride for an even break,” he said; ”don't you, O paragon among pitters?”

”Yes, sir, I do. Ask Mr. Renault what Sir William Johnson's Huron Reds did to the Patroon's Tartars in every main fought 'twixt Johnstown and Albany in '72 and '73.”

I looked up, astounded. ”Have you four Hurons to show?” I asked Sir Peter, incredulously.

”I have,” he said.

A desperate hope glimmered in my mind--nay, not merely a hope but a fair certainty that ruin could be held at arm's length for a while. So possessed was I by absolute faith in Sir William Johnson's strain, called Hurons, that I listened approvingly to Sir Peter's plans for a das.h.i.+ng recoup. After all, it was now or never; the gamblers' fever seized me, too, in a vise-like grip. Why should I not win a thousand guineas for my prisoners, risking but a few hundred on such a hazard!

”You will be there, of course,” he said. And after a long silence, I answered:

”No, I shall walk in the garden until you finish. The main should be ended at five.”

”As you choose, Carus,” he answered pleasantly, glancing at his watch.

Then turning, he cried: ”Time, gentlemen--and four to ten we split the main!”

”Done with you, Sir Peter!” came the answering shout as from a single throat; and Sir Peter, smiling to himself, booked briefly and sauntered toward the tavern door, old Horrock trotting faithfully at heel.

I had risen and was nervously pacing the gra.s.s under the cherry-trees, miserable, full of bitterness, depressed, already bitterly regretting the chance lost, arguing that it was a certainty and no hazard. Yet, deep in my heart, I knew no gentleman can bet on certainty, and where there is no certainty there is risk. That risk I had not taken; the prisoners were to gain or suffer nothing. Thinking of these matters I started to stroll through the cherry grove, and as I stepped from the shade out upon the sunny lawn the shadow of an advancing figure warned me, and I looked up to behold a young officer, in a black and green uniform, crossing my path, his head turned in my direction, his dark, luminous gaze fastened curiously upon me.

Dazzled somewhat by the sun in my eyes, I peered at him as he pa.s.sed, noting the strange cut of his regimentals, the silver b.u.t.tons stamped with a motto in relief, the curious sword-knot of twisted buck-thong heavily embroidered in silver and scarlet wampum. Wampum? And what was that devil's device flas.h.i.+ng on b.u.t.ton and shoulder-knot?

”Butler's Rangers!”

Slowly I turned to stare; he halted, looking back at me, a slim, graceful figure in forest-green, his own black hair gathered in a club, his dark amber eyes fixed on mine with that veiled yet detached glare I had not forgotten.

”Captain Butler,” I said mechanically.

Hats in hand, heels together, we bowed low in the suns.h.i.+ne--so low that our hands on our hilts alone retained the blades in their scabbards, while our hats swept the short gra.s.s on the lawn; then, leisurely erect, once more we stood face to face, a yard of sod betwixt us, the suns.h.i.+ne etching our blue shadows motionless.

”Mr. Renault,” he said, in that colorless voice he used at times, ”I had thought to know you, but you are six years older. Time's alchemy”--he hesitated, then with a perfect bow--”refines even the n.o.blest metal. I trust your health and fortune are all that you could desire. Is madam, your mother, well, and your honorable father?”

”I thank you, Captain Butler.”

He looked at me a moment, then with a melancholy smile and a gesture wholly graceful: ”It is poor reparation to say that I regret the error of my Cayugas which committed your house to the flames.”

”The fortune of war, Captain Butler. I trust your home at Butlersbury still survives intact.”

A dull color crept into his pallid cheeks.

”The house at Butlersbury stands,” he said, ”as do Johnson Hall, Guy Park, and old Fort Johnson. We hope erelong to open them again to our friends, Mr. Renault.”

”I have understood so,” I said politely. ”When do you march from Thendara?”

Again the dark color came into his face. ”Sir Frederick Haldimand is a babbler!” he said, between tightening lips. ”Never a secret, never a plan, but he must bawl it aloud to all who care to listen, or sound it as he gads about from camp to city--aye, and chatters it to the forest trees for lack of audience, I suppose. All New York is humming with it, is it not, Mr. Renault?”

”And if it is, what harm?” I said pleasantly. ”Who ever heard of Thendara, save as a legend of a lost town somewhere in the wilderness?

Who in New York knows where Thendara lies?”