Part 31 (1/2)
”You can be a.s.sured.”
”Mistress Claire,” broke in Peter, ”some one is riding up the road.”
”Yes, Peter, yes. Major, wait here! Don't move. We will go back and meet him.”
I held my horse steady, although he made an effort to follow. Voices came back to me through the darkness,--Grant's loud enough to be clearly heard.
”What, is this you, Claire?” he laughed gruffly. ”By all the G.o.ds, I thought it must be Eric. I never expected to find you togged out in this style. By Jove, I could wish it was daylight.”
Whatever she replied must have sobered the fellow.
”Everything I say you take wrongly. Of course it's all right, for the country is full of stragglers out of both armies. Lord, I don't care what you wear, as long as it suits you. My business? Oh, I explained all that to your putty-faced servant--Saint Anne! that fellow! But I'll review the matter again. I'm drumming up Clinton's deserters, but now I've met you, I'm tempted to go along with you as far as Elmhurst.”
”Become a deserter yourself?”
”Oh, no, or at least only temporarily. There will be plenty of fighting yet in the Jerseys. Clinton's whipped all right, and is going to have a time getting away to the s.h.i.+ps. In my judgment there will be richer picking for a Jerseyman right here at home, than with the army in New York.”
There was a moment's silence; then the girl asked, a shade of horror in her voice:
”Surely you cannot mean to ally yourself with guerillas, Captain Grant?
With--with f.a.gin?”
The man laughed, but mirthlessly.
”That would be horrible, wouldn't it? Well, personally I fail to see why f.a.gin is any more of a scoundrel than some of these other fellows in gilt epaulets. However, I've not come to that point yet. The fact is I have a private affair to attend to before I leave this neighborhood. Can you guess what it is?”
”I? Certainly not.”
”Well, you will know shortly--the ambulance is coming.”
I rode my horse slowly forward, keeping at the edge of the road, until a.s.sured a sufficient distance separated us. Then I gave the restive animal a sharp touch of the spur, sending him swiftly forward. My escort would have a mile or two the start, yet that was nothing. My thoughts were not with them, or with my military duty, but reverted to the little company around the wounded man. The bearing of the despatch to Arnold was mere routine, involving only steady riding, but the relations existing between Claire, Grant, and Eric Mortimer were full of mystery. There were connecting links I could not understand; no doubt had the girl been permitted to conclude her story I might fit it together, but as it was I was left groping in the darkness. Yet my mind tenaciously held to its original theory as to Eric's strange disappearance--he had been betrayed by Grant, and was being held prisoner. But where? By whom? And for what purpose?
I pondered on this problem as my horse ploughed forward through the dust, my eyes unconsciously scanning the dark road. Grant could not have known that Colonel Mortimer was being taken home. His meeting with the ambulance party was altogether an accident. Yet I had no faith the man was out seeking British stragglers, for had he been despatched on such a mission he would have had at least a squad of soldiers with him. Then what? The probability was that he was either riding to Elmhurst, or to some rendezvous with f.a.gin. Some plan had been interrupted by Clinton's sudden march, by the British defeat at Monmouth, and Grant was risking his commission, braving the charge of desertion, for some private purpose. This might be love of Claire, revenge upon Eric, or possibly both combined. The latter would seem most probable. He would use Eric in some way to threaten the sister, to compel her to sacrifice herself. She was of a nature to do this, as was already abundantly proved by her a.s.sumption of male attire to save Eric's reputation. My own responsibility loomed large as I reached this conclusion, and remembered her appeal for help. She, also, must suspect the truth, and had turned to me as the only one capable of unravelling the mystery. She trusted me, loved me, I now believed--and, under G.o.d, I would prove worthy her faith.
With teeth clinched in sudden determination I caught up with my little squad of plodding hors.e.m.e.n, and, with word of command, hurried them into a sharp trot.
Riding ahead, boot to boot with Conroy, I thought out a plan for action, and finally, in the gray of the morning, told him enough of the story to arouse his interest. Just before sunrise we pa.s.sed Elmhurst, the great white mansion appearing silent and deserted. There was no halting, although we turned in the saddle to look, and my eyes swept over the troopers trotting behind us. They were a st.u.r.dy lot, their faces bronzed from exposure, their uniforms stained and dust-covered.
”Regulars?” I asked, nodding back across my shoulder.
”Not a man but has seen two-years' service,” he replied proudly.
”Hamilton knows the troop, and he picked us out.”
”I may need them for a bit of desperate work.”
”They'll do it, sir, never fear.”
”Good, sergeant; we'll ride hard, and trust to getting fresh horses in Philadelphia. I'll tell Arnold the story. When we arrive there have your men get all the sleep they can. I'll attend to rations and ammunition.
You are simply to have the men rested and ready. Cannot we make better time? The horses seem in good condition.”