Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

by The Lure of the Falcon (v1. 0) (lit)

  'We "ought to get some sleep,' Tim said, as he finished his soup. 'I shouldn't think they'd be likely to come before the evening, and I for one am feeling pretty sleepy.'

  'I'm not. You sleep if you want to. I'll wake you if I see anything—'

  'You'll be tired out by tonight.'

  'Then I'll sleep on my horse, and you can lead me. Besides, who knows if we will be going farther tonight?'

  Propped against the chimney piece, his body warm and relaxed but his brain wide awake and his eyes alert, Gilles whiled away the time with drinking endless cups of tea and now and then chatting to the militiamen when one or other of them came in to warm himself, or to the landlady of the inn, who was a thin, chirpy little woman, dressed in black as became a widow but with a lively eye for men in general.

  The tall, fair youth who wore his disgraceful garments with such an air of elegance clearly attracted her, perhaps because of his light blue eyes which, in a face tanned almost as dark as an Indian's, were like windows opening on to a pale, morning sky. She kept hovering about him in a way that he began to find extremely trying, since her black dress was continually coming between him and the window he was watching.

  She had told him all about the heroic death of her husband, the late Mr Sullivan, at Monmouth Courthouse and was embarking on the tale of their courtship beneath the blossoming apple trees of Northcastle, when some instinct brought Gilles to his feet.

  Excusing himself, he strode over to the window and leaned out, feeling the blood beat faster in his veins. Two horsemen were standing at the ferry landing, talking to the militiamen.

  They were dressed alike in brown suits with silver buttons under their long, dark cloaks, but the faces beneath their black cocked hats were those which Gilles had been watching for so persistently. They were Josh Smith and the English major, disguised as good American citizens.

  They talked for a moment longer. Then Gilles saw the Englishman take a piece of white paper from under his cloak and hold it out to the militiaman who took it with a bored expression, read it, shrugged helplessly and then turned away to the ferryman's hut, while the two travellers made their way slowly down to the ferryboat and stepped aboard.

  Cursing volubly, Gilles flung himself on Tim, dragged him off his bench still half awake and hauled him over to the window.

  'Look! They've managed to get across!'

  Tim's dazed eyes focused abruptly and he let out a volley of oaths which would have shocked his father, the minister. Then he made a dash for the door, wrenched it open and plunged towards the militia post, with Gilles at his heels. But quick as they were, they were still too late. The ferry had left the bank and was well out in the stream.

  'What is the meaning of this?' Tim yelled furiously. 'Here have we been sitting in the inn for hours because you said your damned ferry wasn't running! Orders from above, you said! Will you tell me what it is doing now, for those two?'

  The militiaman shrugged phlegmatically, pulled his pipe out of his pocket and began methodically filling it.

  'Couldn't say no to them, cully! Their orders come from even higher up. A pass signed by General Arnold himself! No good saying no to him. No good you getting yourself in such a state about it, either,' he added with a touch of alarm as Tim's rage showed signs of becoming uncontrollable.

  Gilles, on the other hand, began to laugh.

  'He's right, Tim! It can't do any good. There are some injustices even in a democracy. Never mind,' he added, turning to the militiaman. 'They must be members of Congress at least, to have such passes. Do you know where they were bound?'

  Grateful for this unexpected support, the man grinned broadly at Gilles and spat majestically on the ground.

  'Congress? No such thing! One of them is Joshua Smith, a big farmer and well known in these parts, and the other's a cousin of his from Albany. They are expected at the house of Smith's brother-in-law, Mr Pendleton at Long Grove, some two miles from here. Seems there's trouble there.'

  The militiaman moved away, leaving the two friends staring at the river which seemed to mock them. The ferryboat was already nearly at the other side.

  'We must get across!' Tim muttered, gritting his teeth.

  'We can't get the horses across without the ferry. I can see only one solution.'

  'What is it?'

  'To wait until well after nightfall when there's no one around and steal the boat.'

  'Always supposing it comes back, which I doubt. The ferryman lives on the other side. He must have been delighted to be obliged to go back home!'

  Gilles' calmness was beginning to desert him.

  'Then we must go farther on and find another ferry. The main thing is to get ahead of him before—'

  'The river gets a lot wider after this. We'd have to go all the way down to Tappan and cross at Dobbs Ferry, then come back to the Croton River.'

  They went back glumly to the inn, to be met by Mrs Sullivan with broad smiles, for she had feared that the handsome young gentleman was about to depart without paying his shot.

  'I'll have your suppers ready in a trice,' she promised gaily. 'I don't like to boast, mind, but I think you'll be pleased. And then a good room shall be made ready for you. This is a modest house but my bedchambers want for nothing. Unless you gentlemen are in haste to continue your journey and would wish to cross the river after you have supped?'

  'We are indeed in haste,' Gilles said, 'but it is not kind in you to mock us, ma'am. You know that no one may cross the river tonight.'

  'But I am not mocking you. I know that you are in haste. You have spent the whole day watching the ferry and then when it takes others across, you both go rushing out like madmen! Yet you can cross none the less, for I have a boat.'

  She was taking pewter plates down from a dresser and setting them on the table as she spoke. Gilles sighed wretchedly.

  'We cannot take our horses across in a boat, and we cannot go without them.'

  The landlady laughed. 'As to your horses, let me tell you that not only do I have a boat, I also have a son that is a farrier in the village across the river, and he has horses for hire. You have only to leave your beasts with me and I will give you a note for Nat in exchange, and he will give you two more, fresh horses. You can bring them back when you come to collect your own from here. Oh! There, now, young man! That will do!'

  In his excitement, Gilles had caught up the old woman in his arms and deposited a smacking kiss on either cheek, an expression of a gratitude infinitely more sincere than was the indignation of its recipient. She promptly disappeared into her store room in a whirl of petticoats to bring out her best preserves, looking ten years younger.

  Tim sat with his elbows on the table and regarded his friend with admiration.

  'Being attractive to women can cause complications, but you must admit there are times when it comes in confoundedly handy!'

  There were no other guests at the inn that night and supper, presided over by Mrs Sullivan herself, was a merry meal. They heard the rest of the story of the hero of Monmouth Courthouse and his bride, Gilles talked of Brittany and Tim of his travels to Paris. They finished by toasting General Washington in the late Mr Sullivan's best brandy. At last, towards nine o'clock, they began to think of departing.

  While the two young men checked their weapons, Mrs Sullivan left the room and reappeared with a heavy sleeveless jacket, sheepskin lined, which she put round Gilles' shoulders.

  'It belonged to my late husband,' she said, smiling a trifle moistly. "He doesn't need it now, poor man, and you could do with something to keep you warm.'

  'Mrs Sullivan, you are the best of women,' Gilles told her, deeply touched. 'I look forward to coming back to see you again.'

  He kissed her once more, as he might have kissed Rozenn or his mother, always supposing she would have allowed it. Tim shook her warmly by the hand and then the two of them stepped out into the night and made for the little boathouse she had shown them.

  Five minutes later, they were rowing f
or the scattering of lights on the far bank.

  There was a strong current but the weather had moderated and the two friends pulled on their oars with such a will that they were very soon across the river.

  'Now all we have to do is to find the farrier,' Tim said as he sprang on to the little landing stage.

  Dawn found them at the Croton River ford. The welcome they had received from Mrs Sullivan's son, after knocking him up in the middle of the night, had been in every way the equal of his mother's. In addition to the promised horses, he provided them with a few hours' sleep and a valuable piece of information. The two travellers had indeed gone to Mr Pendleton's house, arriving there at nightfall. And now Gilles and Tim were sitting their horses behind a thin screen of trees, keeping a watch on the line of stakes across the river which marked the ford. They themselves had crossed without difficulty.

  They did not have to wait long. A pair of kingfishers skimmed the surface of the water and rose skywards and in the same instant, a horseman appeared and rode quietly into the ford. Gilles' keen eyes knew him at once. It was the Englishman.

  'There he is,' he said softly. 'Strange, though… he is alone.'

  'Not so strange. It is not far now to the English lines. Smith must have decided there was no more to fear and turned back.' The officer certainly appeared tranquil enough. He was guiding his horse carelessly with one hand, the other hanging loosely at his side, and gazing about him, smiling slightly, at the green countryside, washed clean by the heavy rains of the previous day. It was a beautiful, peaceful morning in which war seemed to have no place and he was clearly far from imagining any danger.

  'Let's go,' Gilles said, as the Englishman reached dry ground. He levelled his pistol and rode out from behind the screen of trees, with Tim at his heels, and blocked the traveller's path. Having no hat to doff, he contented himself with a slight inclination of his head.

  'Sir,' he said, with perfect politeness, 'be so good as to consider yourself our prisoner and to hand over the papers you received from General Arnold.'

  If he were surprised, the young officer did not show it.

  'Who are you, sir?' he asked mildly.

  'Although you might not think it from our dress, we belong to the United States Army.'

  'You do not speak like an American.'

  'I serve the King of France but you must know that at the present time that comes to the same thing. Come, sir, the papers! We know precisely what you have been doing in the house of Josh Smith.'

  The Englishman's smile was a miracle of quiet charm. He shook his head gently.

  'Indeed, sir, I fear your wits have gone a-begging. I have no idea what papers you are referring to. Unless, perhaps, to this?'

  He drew a folded paper from his breast. It did indeed carry the signature of General Arnold and contain his clear and unmistakable order to whom it might concern to facilitate the journey of one John Anderson, Esquire, of Albany, travelling to Norwalk.

  'Not that, as you well know. Will you be good enough to dismount?'

  'As you wish.'

  While Tim kept the Englishman carefully covered with his rifle, Gilles searched him thoroughly, but found nothing.

  'This is too much!' he exclaimed. 'I saw with my own eyes that traitor Arnold hand you a description of the fort's defences and the strength of the garrison.'

  The Englishman laughed and, completely ignoring Tim, went to catch his horse which had begun to move away.

  'Then your eyes were playing tricks on you,' he said. 'Now may I continue my journey?'

  But something about him had put Gilles on his guard. 'I see that you are walking with a limp?' he observed sardonically.

  'A slight sprain. I slipped in the mud when dismounting yesterday.'

  'Indeed? Then would you mind removing your boot?'

  Gilles knew by the Englishman's sudden pallor that he had guessed correctly. The papers he was looking for were there, carefully folded, in between his stocking and his foot.

  'We have them now, Tim,' he said happily, holding the papers towards his friend. 'Look!'

  In his delight, he failed to notice the change which had come over his prisoner's face and he started as he heard a drawling voice behind him say: 'I'd like a look at those papers you seem to find so interesting, young man.'

  A number of men had appeared from nowhere, villainous-looking fellows clad in an assortment of military tunics and rough jackets and breeches. They were drawn up around the group on the path in a wide semi-circle based on the river. The Englishman cried out gladly.

  'This is a godsend! Surely, you must be Cowboys? I was told there were some hereabouts. These men are Americans. Get me away from them.'

  The one who seemed to be their leader, and whose appearance was, if possible, even more villainous than his men's, came forward, twitching the papers out of Gilles' hands as he did so.

  'And who are you?'

  'One of you – more or less. I am a British officer. On a special mission for General Clinton.'

  The other man pushed back the greasy cocked hat with a flamboyant feather in it, which served him for headgear, and laughed. Something about his laughter struck a chord in Gilles' mind.

  'A British officer, eh? Well, if you're the best friend Clinton can show by way of secret agents, he's in a poor way. You're out in your reckoning, my boy. We're not Cowboys. Skinners is what we are.'

  'More of them!' Gilles could not help exclaiming. He felt as if he had been here before. But then Tim broke in.

  'Your name wouldn't be Ned Paulding, by any chance?'

  The face that turned towards him had a red nose and eyes to match, but it bore a gratified expression.

  'That's the ticket! My fame's spread, has it?'

  'No, but we know your brother Sam. In fact he told us to look for you round about the Croton River. You gave us a nasty turn. We've been following this man, who is a British spy, for two days and we thought he was going to give us the slip. If you'll return those papers to us, we'll be on our way with him.'

  'Not so fast! What you say may well be true, but Sam and me, that's not altogether the same thing.'

  He peered at the papers, turning them over in stubby, tobacco-stained fingers.

  'These could be worth a mint of money, I guess,' he said, as if to himself.

  'If it's money you want,' the Englishman cried, snatching at a possible means of escape, 'I can give it to you. I have five hundred dollars on me, and a gold watch – take them and let me go.'

  'Interesting. Hand them over.'

  'You call yourself an American and you are going to let him get away!' Gilles cried angrily, watching the Skinner pocket the money and the watch. 'This is high treason and you deserve hanging for it!'

  Ned Paulding sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve and favoured him with what was clearly intended to be a winning smile.

  'Calm down, young feller-me-lad, calm down! We Pauldings are no traitors, as Sam must have told you. But we're not fools, either. So it's we are going to take this prisoner of yours to the proper place for him. I've a notion the Colonel Jameson, who commands the cavalry post at North Castle, might give a few more dollars for him.'

  'That is unworthy! You have taken the man's money! Either let him go or give it back to him. As for the papers—'

  'I'm very glad to have them,' the other said, putting them in his pocket. 'But since you seem to me to be a trifle too inclined to meddle in other men's affairs, you'll oblige me by staying here. You, there! Lay hold of these pullets and tie them each to a tree! We'll have time enough to finish our business before they manage to free themselves – and we'll get two more horses into the bargain.'

  Almost before he had finished speaking, Gilles and Tim were set upon by a score of men and trussed helplessly although they both put up a spirited defence. Gilles bellowed like an ox, beside himself with rage. The tears started from his eyes as he saw the English officer's bound wrists roped to the saddle of his own horse and Ned Paulding bestriding it.

>   'Sir,' he cried. 'I ask your pardon. It was my duty to intercept you, but I would rather you had gone free than have seen you in the hands of these wretches. They are a disgrace to an honourable cause!'

  The Englishman gave him the charming smile which Gilles, had been struck by in Josh Smith's house.

  'I know that, sir. In all the time that we have been fighting the French, we have always known that honour to them was more than an empty word. But have no fear. I should not think of confusing these men with General Washington's, for he is a perfect gentleman. Goodbye to you, sir, and thank you for what you tried to do.'

  The party rode off in a cloud of dust. When it subsided, the banks of the Croton River were as peaceful as before. The two young men, lashed to their separate trees, had, perforce, become a part of the scene and Gilles' temper gradually grew calm again.

  'It remains to be seen how long we shall be obliged to stay here,' he said with a sigh, tugging at his bonds to test their strength.

  'We're not far from the ford. Someone will be bound to come sooner or later. And after all, why should we worry? Arnold's trick has failed in any case. Colonel Jameson, whoever he is, must be able to read. He'll do what's needed.'

  'If those damned Skinners don't run into the Cowboys or an English patrol on the way to North Castle.'

  'Trust Paulding for that. He's a natural-born bandit, that one! He'll guard his prisoner like a dog its bone. Besides, it may not be long before we're free. Someone will surely come along—'

  But the hours passed and no one crossed the ford. They had to wait until nearly nightfall for their release, which came to them in the shape of a strong troop of regular horse.

  The officer with them was the second-in-command at the North Castle post. His name was Colonel Benjamin Tallmadge and he was a man of middle age, cool, deliberate and somewhat taciturn. His rigid features were quite devoid of expression but his gaze was direct and uncompromising and his speech forthright. The questions he put to them were short and to the point, and he listened carefully to what they told him in reply. He seemed to feel no great surprise at the adventures of these two villainously dressed strangers, or at their story of the night at Josh Smith's house. But he frowned when Gilles told him of the Skinners' intention to sell their prisoner to Colonel Jameson.