'And what if you set fire to all this?' Jakob growled.
'Oh, don't worry about that! Tim will put the light out as soon as I'm asleep. He's used to it.'
Van Baren mumbled something impolite, to the effect that the King of France had probably seized the opportunity to rid himself of all the cowards in his kingdom by sending them off to join the gallant fighters for Independence, but he left the lantern on the ground.
'Sleep well,' he said ironically, pulling the door to behind him. It creaked more loudly than ever. Then the bar fell with a crash – but not loud enough to cover another, more sinister sound, the sound of a key turning in a lock.
Snatching up the lantern, Gilles sprang forward and bent down. There was, in fact, a lock on the outside of the door. It could be seen quite clearly just below the bar. Cursing under his breath, he turned back to Tim.
'You didn't trust him, did you? Well, you were right. We've been caught in some sort of a trap. He's locked us in.'
'So I heard,' his friend said gruffly, and then he grinned. 'What's more, I guess I wasn't the only one who was suspicious, or else why should a gallant soldier of France suddenly see fit to make himself look a fool?'
The Breton's cool eyes met the American's and the same gleam of laughter lurked in both.
'When you have an oil lamp, and a creaking door and a strong mistrust of your host, then there are some things you must resign yourself to,' he said. 'But I fear I covered myself with shame to no avail. We've been caught like rats.'
'Maybe,' Tim said.
Without another word, he took his knife from his pocket and began poking about at the door, although more from a sense of duty than from any real conviction, since it seemed to have been stoutly made and the wood was sound.
'All this to protect a load of bracken seems rather overdoing it,' he murmured as he worked.
Gilles, meanwhile, was pacing out the space allotted to them, searching for a hole in the walls or a shaky board that might offer them a way out.
'By the way,' he said, giving up with a sigh and coming back to sit beside his friend, 'what put you on your guard?'
'A whole lot of things. I happen to know a good deal about the Mennonites. We've some at Stillborough. They are so peace-loving and so hospitable they'd never let themselves ask a benighted traveller any questions, not even if he came with a knife in his teeth.'
'These are troubled times. That could explain his mistrust—'
'Yes, but not his appearance. Here's a man who digs out coal in his spare time, a thing which no Amish would ever do, and spends the rest of his life tilling the soil, and yet there's not the smallest trace of dirt in his hands or under his fingernails? And finally, if you want to know, I thought he had too good a cook. It doesn't fit in with the austerity of that sect! But after all, there's nothing to be done. Yet I'd like to find a way of getting out of here without our host's permission. I've an idea he's got something in store for us… Besides, we're wasting time.'
'I know, but even if we do get out, what good will it do us? It's still raining. The women are both inside the house. What's more, they are too tired to go another step, especially in weather like this. Can you see us abandoning them to the mercy of this fellow?'
'Yes.'
It was said fiercely, almost savagely, and Gilles shivered as he looked again at his friend and scarcely knew him. The tracker's normally cheerful face was set like stone.
'You're not thinking what you're saying!'
Tim thrust his long nose close to Gilles' and looked him straight in the eyes.
'I'm thinking exactly that! We have to face facts, old lad. The girls are holding us up. If it had not been for them, we'd never have got into this hornet's nest and every minute's delay might have the gravest consequences. How do we know that Arnold isn't handing West Point over to the English at this very moment? We are soldiers first and foremost and we have a mission to fulfil. It is our duty to get away from here as fast as possible, women or no women! And don't try telling me to go alone. If we've a gang of Cowboys to face, two of us will be none too many, for at least one of us must get through at all costs! So do me a favour and leave your high-flown chivalry out of it.'
'But what will become of them?'
'As Van Baren would say. "God will provide". Besides, even if he's not what he pretends to be, he can hardly murder them. The worst that can happen to them is to be made into servants to Mariekje. And now let's try and find a hole.'
He got up to show that the subject was closed and began exploring the place as Gilles had done, but keeping his nose close to the ground, like a dog on a scent.
'You're wasting your time,' Gilles told him crossly. 'There's not room for a pin between those boards. This barn was well built.' Angrily brushing away a drip of water from his nose, he added: 'Well built but very badly roofed. The rain is coming in—'
Both in the same instant looked up at the boarded roof and measured its slope with their eyes.
'Tim—' Gilles whispered. 'There may be a way! Look. The bracken is piled right up to the top. Perhaps we could climb up and try to wrench out one of the boards. If the wind has managed to shift one, there's no reason why—'
He had no need to finish. Tim was already surveying the height of the barn with a brightening eye. Then, without more ado, he took a run at the pile of bracken.
'Let's go!' he said.
It was no easy task to scale the big, unsteady bales. They were obliged to check their enthusiasm and go more carefully. Then, when they reached the top, they needed to go higher still and had to move several of the bales without dislodging them and ending up on the floor again amid an avalanche.
With Tim braced against three of the bales of bracken on which he stood and doing his best to hold them steady, Gilles reached precariously up to the roof and endeavoured to push up one of the boards. To his delight he found that, although heavy, it would shift a little. Some of the hails had come away.
'I'm afraid I can't do it alone,' he panted. 'There will have to be two of us up here to push.'
'Let's try, then. Come down—'
They added more bales to the topmost layer and made them as firm as possible. When, at last, the two of them were standing just beneath the roof, Tim tested it with his hand.
'It should do it with the two of us,' he said with satisfaction. 'Let's push.'
'Wait a moment!'
Quickly peeling off the kind of black gown which Jakob had bestowed on him, Gilles cast it over the lantern. The barn was plunged into darkness.
'You crazy?' Tim said mildly.
'Not a bit! What do you think will happen if Van Baren takes a look out of the window and sees light coming out of the roof of his barn? We don't need to see much for what we're going to do.'
One side of the board gave slightly before the united efforts of the two of them. The other end held firm. They pushed harder, regardless of the rain which was now pouring in to mingle with the sweat that drenched their bodies. The board gave way at last. They heard it slither away and then land with a dull thud on the ground. They were left standing in the rain, but in the free air.
In another moment, they were on the roof and beginning a cautious descent of the long slope made slippery by the rain. It was especially awkward for Gilles because he had refused to be parted from the lantern, despite Tim's vigorous objections. At last they reached the gutter and a downpipe ending in an already overflowing water butt brought them to the ground. Joyfully, they felt their feet touch the soaking earth.
They were in the small yard between the barn and the house which rose before them, so ominously dark and silent that Gilles felt a tightening of the heart.
'Tim—' he whispered. 'We must try and take them with us. We can't just desert them like this, it would be too—'
He broke off, half-stifled, as Tim's great paw was clamped over his mouth and stayed there, like a limpet, while in his ear the American's voice whispered remorselessly:
'Not another word about
that! And now, my lad, listen carefully to what I'm going to say, for I shan't say it again. The outcome of the war and the liberty of a whole nation may depend on our survival. So, even if I knew that those two women were in danger of being put to death at dawn, I should still do exactly what we are going to do. And since they're certainly not in any danger of the kind, that's enough of that and let's be on our way!'
Gilles thrust his friend's hand away angrily, but he uttered no further protest. Tim's argument was incontestable because the secret they had stumbled upon was one, in fact, which went beyond all ordinary feelings. They were no longer free to act as they would. What were two young women compared to the vast struggle which the Rebels had undertaken? As though in answer to his thoughts, Tim spoke again, but this time with an unexpected gentleness.
'If my own mother were shut up in that house, I would not hesitate to leave her there.'
'Very well,' Gilles said with a sigh. 'I'm coming.'
In order to avoid having to pass in front of the house, they went on along the side of the hill, past the mine entrance – and both stopped suddenly at the same moment. Somewhere, far down inside the black opening, they had heard a whinney.
'Well, well!' Tim said. 'I'm beginning to think there may be something in that famous Breton stubbornness of yours. It looks as though your lantern is going to prove useful.'
In single file, the two friends made their way into the mine tunnel. Gilles uncovered the lantern just enough to keep them from breaking their necks. Once past the entrance, it was high enough and the wooden props looked to be in good condition, but there was little trace of any work being done. If Van Baren were extracting coal, he could not have been doing so for some time.
'And yet,' Gilles said, 'he was certainly coming out of this tunnel when we arrived.'
'That doesn't mean he had been working here. Listen—'
They could hear the whinneying again, closer now, guiding their steps. A moment later they discovered what they had probably been hoping for unconsciously ever since they had entered the mine: a largish cave, its entrance half-concealed behind an outcrop of rock, had been turned into a very fair stable, for light must surely penetrate it during the day from the numerous cracks in the rock, well overgrown with vegetation.
'Do you see what I see?' Tim asked delightedly.
There were two horses, standing docilely in improvised stalls, two horses that were evidently well cared for, for their litter of dry bracken was clean and their coats shone. The saddles and harness hanging on the nearest wall gleamed with polishing.
'If these nags are for working on the farm I'll eat my hat,' Gilles said.
'Then you've no need to worry – and nor have I, since you've no hat of your own! These horses belong to the British army – see where they're marked.' Tim held the lantern up close to one of the beasts. 'It's strange, to say the least – and I'm beginning to wonder whether Van Baren's a rogue or a good patriot—'
'We can ask questions later. Heaven has sent us horses. Let's saddle up and be off.'
It was done in a trice. Then, leading the animals with one hand and holding their noses with the other to keep them from whinneying, they made their way out of the improvised stable and along the mine tunnel back to the open air. All at once Tim, who was leading the way with the lantern, stopped dead in his tracks.
'Well?' Gilles said impatiently. 'Go on!'
Tim said: 'Yes, yes,' absently and then, in a different voice, he went on: 'All in all, I guess he is an abominable rogue.' Then he put out the light abruptly and they were plunged in darkness. But they were near enough to the entrance and Gilles merely put it down to caution on his part. He was glad to be in the open air again.
The night seemed light after the stifling darkness of the mine and the smell of the forest unusually fragrant. Gilles took a deep breath full of enjoyment and then, eager to feel the warm, familiar power of a horse between his knees, he leaped into the saddle.
Without a backward glance at the house of Jakob Van Baren to tempt them to second thoughts, the two friends reached the cover of the trees, and the sound of their departing hoofs was muffled by the moss. It had stopped raining at last.
Chapter Eleven
West Point
Daylight came like a thief, creeping in a grey mist between the tall trunks of the wet pine trees, giving out a meagre ration of light from an overcast sky, still swollen with rain. The two men had travelled all night in silence, guided by Tim's sure instinct, and despite the hazards of the way they must have covered a fair distance but even so, they were not yet done with the forest and its swamps.
'I'd give a lot to be able to gallop for a while,' Gilles groaned. 'This damned path seems to go on for ever. Do you know where we are?'
'I've a vague idea,' Tim muttered without turning round. 'We're in Sullivan county. That little stream down there is Ten Mile River. We've come a good way.'
'We haven't met Van Baren's famous bugbears, at any rate! Not a sign of the terrible Cowboys.'
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, there was a shrill whistle high above their heads and the forest around them was suddenly full of people. Fierce-looking men, dressed for the most part like countrymen, emerged from behind the trees. Three of them stationed themselves across the path, guns at the ready. The one who seemed to be their leader was wearing Hessian uniform.
'Well,' Tim said. 'Talk of the devil. But you'd have done better to have held your tongue. Here are your Cowboys.'
'Good day to you, honourable travellers,' the man in Hessian uniform declaimed. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, and those splendid animals you're riding. Will you be good enough to dismount—'
'So that you can more readily rifle our pockets?' Tim finished sardonically. 'Well, Cowboys, you're going to be disappointed. Our pockets are empty. You won't find a brass farthing, however hard you look.'
'A pity. In that case, I'll make do with your horses.'
'Is that all? And what will that leave us, Cowboy?'
'Your lives – so long as you stop calling me Cowboy. I don't like being insulted.'
Gilles and Tim exchanged glances and it was the Breton who answered.
'Your pardon, friend. We were warned that we might well encounter a large gang of these Cowboys. We took you for the one known as the Avenger.'
The man lowered his gun and came closer, leaving his two companions still standing in the same attitude. He was frowning.
'Where did you hear of the Avenger? It's three months since he disappeared and I've been searching for him. We have an account to settle, he and I.'
'Then,' Tim broke in, 'if you are not him, and not a Cowboy, who are you? A Skinner?'
'And proud of it,' the man cried, thumping his chest. 'It's in the family. My name's Sam Paulding and no Paulding ever served King George, not willingly at first. We serve the cause of Independence – and it is in the name of that cause that I require your horses, for unfortunately we are short of them. So will you now dismount. I should be sorry to be obliged to kill you,' he added, pointing his gun at Tim's chest. Tim remained unmoved.
'So should we,' he agreed mildly. 'But you ought to look twice before you kill us, if you serve the cause of liberty, or leave us our horses and let us go on our way, because we're in a hurry to get back to General Washington who is waiting for a report on our mission. He doesn't care to be kept waiting, and if he has to wait too long and gets to hear that it was Sam Paulding who delayed us by stealing our horses, I don't think he'll be grateful. And he has a heavy hand, our general.' The man smiled broadly, showing a splendid set of teeth.
Under his military coat, he was remarkably dirty but neither coarse nor particularly ill-looking, and there was a directness in his keen eyes.
'Is that so? You look like staff officers, I must say! In another minute you'll be telling me those beasts you're riding belong to the Virginia cavalry. Still, I'd better make sure. Don't want to look a fool!' Then he snapped out suddenly: 'Hey! I know horses! I'll be h
anged if these don't belong to the Redcoats!'
His eyes narrowed. Tossing his gun to one of his men, he went quickly to Gilles' horse's head and, holding it still with a practised hand, began rubbing the creature's forehead. 'Here!' Gilles protested. 'What are you up to?'
'You must have had some heavy rain in the mountains,' he said. 'This animal is soaking wet – and the dye is coming off him.' He held up his hands, showing chocolate-coloured fingertips. Still holding the horse's head, he felt in his pocket and produced a faded rag which might have been a handkerchief. He spat on it and began to rub harder, then stood back, like a painter judging the effect of his work. Light dawned in his face.
'Well, I'll be damned!' he said, grinning all over his face. 'If it ain't Winner! The Avenger's own horse! It's too rich!' He swung round to his men. 'Here, you fellows, fetch these two sweet-talking rogues along with us! I'm willing to wager they belong to that son of a bitch's gang and we're going to have a little chat.'
Tim and Gilles, heavily outnumbered, were hauled from their horses despite their protests and made to go with the ragged band down towards the valley. In a short while they came to what was evidently their lair, a half-ruined hovel on the Ten Mile River which might once have been a mill. They were dragged inside, into the one habitable room which was crowded with men and women of all ages and descriptions.
Sam Paulding seated himself on an upturned cask and prepared to hold a kind of trial. Several of his men ranged themselves behind him, weapons at the slope.
'Gentlemen,' he said gazing round him with an autocratic stare, 'we are about to pass judgment upon these two suspects but, before we do, it is right that we should ask them some questions, to which they would be well advised to answer freely if they wish to spare themselves – and us, for we are civilized people – some extremely unpleasant measures. And the first of these questions, is where is the Avenger?'
Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon Page 28