The Rider of the Black Horse/Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV
JACOB GUNNING'S TAVERN
A low moan had been heard from the bushes that grew not far from the kitchen door, and the sound had broken in upon the young soldier's thoughts in a manner that had startled him. He glanced hastily about the place, but still no one could be seen. Robert, his heart beating furiously and a sudden fear sweeping over him, leaned forward on his horse's neck and listened intently. For a brief time the oppressive silence was unbroken, and then once more the sound was heard, and there was no mistaking its meaning or the place from which it had come.
Again looking hastily all about him to make certain that he was not seen by watchful eyes and being led into a trap of some kind, Robert leaped from the back of his horse and cautiously approached the bushes from which the startling sound had issued. He held his pistol in his hands and still was peering intently about him as well as before him. The quiet of the summer day was unbroken, and save for the sight of the ruins of the home and the recollection of the sounds that had startled him there was nothing apparently in all the region to alarm him.
Carefully pushing aside the outer bushes, he was startled to behold the form of a man on the ground before him. The groan he had heard was not a fancy, he assured himself, as he at once kneeled beside the prostrate man and gazed into his face to discover if he was any one whom he had known. One glance satisfied him that the man was a stranger. He was dressed in the ordinary garb of the farmers of the region, but there was a bruise on the side of the head that plainly indicated what had befallen him. But the man was unconscious, and had it not been for the sound that he had heard Robert could have easily believed the man was dead.
A careful examination, however, revealed the fact that the heart was still beating; and, satisfied as to that point, Robert hastily rose and going to the well lowered the sweep and lifting the bucket from its place hastened with it to the prostrate man, and at once began to bathe the head of the sufferer with the cold water.
For several minutes he continued in his occupation, but although the man occasionally moaned he still gave no signs of returning consciousness. A whinny of his horse caused Robert to rise hastily and dart out into the open space, but as he was unable to perceive any cause of the horse's uneasiness he soon returned to his place in the bushes.
He was puzzled now to know what to do. The man evidently was a stranger to him, but common humanity demanded that he should not be left in such a plight. Still Robert Dorlon recalled the words of General Clinton, that "he was not to be knight-errant," and that the lives of many men as well as the successful execution of the plans of the leaders of the army demanded that he should make all haste on his return to the camp in New Jersey.
Moved by a sudden impulse, Robert began to search the pockets of the man before him, though he had no other purpose in mind than to discover, if possible, who he might be, and if he belonged in the immediate region, to send some one to his aid. Throwing back the coat of the man, he drew from his inside pocket a letter which, feeling at liberty to open, he at once began to read.
A low whistle escaped his lips as he read, and in a moment he was aware that he had made a discovery of importance. It was a message unsigned, and neither was there any address given at the heading of the letter, but in it there was clearly unfolded a plan for the assembling of a band of men who on a certain night were to make a descent upon Esopus and attempt to release the prisoners confined there.
The identity of the man before him was not disclosed by the missive, nor was there any way by which he might learn from whom the letter had come. There was no difficulty, however, in understanding what the plan proposed was to be, for Robert was aware that the few prisoners whom the Americans had taken in the region of the Hudson, together with some suspected persons, were held in Esopus, and the only ones who would be likely to strive to set them free would be the enemies of the patriots. The fact, too, that the man had this letter in his possession was almost proof positive that he did not belong to the side on which Robert stood, and without compunction he thrust the letter into his own pocket and then once more glanced down at the prostrate form.
He was startled as he perceived that the man's eyes were open now, and as it was evident from their expression that consciousness had returned Robert's first feeling was almost one of chagrin. Had the man seen him when he had thrust the letter into his pocket? He could not determine, but the fact that the man had regained consciousness was a solution for one of his perplexing problems, for now he felt that he would be able to leave him and could speedily resume his own journey.
"Are you all right now?" he inquired, bending low as he spoke.
The man did not reply, but the expression in his eyes indicated that he understood what was said.
"I heard you in here," Robert continued, "and I came to see what I could do to help you. I think you 'll soon be all right now."
Still the man made no attempt to reply, though it was plain that he understood.
"I'd stay and help you," said Robert, "only I must go on at once. Is there any one near here to whom you would have me take any word? I could do that much for you."
The man shook his head slightly, but it was sufficient to indicate that he had no message which he desired to be carried.
"Do you know what has become of Ha—of Mrs. Nott ? How did the house get on fire ? Do you know where Mr. Nott and the boys are?"
There was a flash in the eyes of the man as Robert eagerly made his inquiries, but still he either could not or would not speak.
"Shall I take you out into the open or leave you here?"
The slumbering fire in the man's expression seemed to blaze for a moment, but he made no reply.
"Shall I leave you here?" again Robert inquired.
The man slightly nodded his head and Robert quickly turned away. Hesitating a moment, the young soldier again turned back and said, "I 'll fill up the bucket again and leave it where you can get at it. You 'll be all right in a little while now anyway, but if I meet or see any one in the road I 'll send him to you."
Ignoring the protest in the man's actions, for he had shaken his head very decidedly at the suggestion, Robert hastily refilled the bucket, placed it close to the side of the apparently helpless sufferer, and then at once remounted his horse and began to ride swiftly on his way. But he was far from feeling at ease. The uncertainty as to the fate of Hannah Nott and her mother, the ruined home the disappearance of the men, and the presence of the wounded stranger were all perplexing. Had he been free to follow his own inclinations he would instantly have begun a search for some one who might have aided him in obtaining the information he desired; but his orders were explicit, and he knew also how important it was that he should make the best possible time in returning with the two letters which General Clinton had intrusted to his keeping.
The third letter, the one which he had taken from the pocket of the helpless man, increased his confusion; for if the attempt to release the prisoners at Esopus should be made soon, then certainly the information which he had secured should speedily be placed in the possession of those to whom the defense of the place had been intrusted. It was true there was no date given in the letter, but the very fact that the man had such a letter in his possession at such a time certainly implied that the execution of the plan was designed to be in the immediate future.
Thoughtfully he drew from his pocket a rude sketch of the roads which General Clinton had given him at the time of his departure from Fort Montgomery, with the design that if he should choose the back roads, in order to avoid the peril he had met on his way up, he would not be at a loss to decide which to take. And he was now following the suggestions which had been given him, for, instead of returning from the home, or what had once been the home, of Hannah Nott, to the main road which was nearer the river, he had kept on up the hill and was headed now for a region with which he was not so familiar as he was with that in which he had formerly made his journeys. At one place on the map General Clinton had indicated the location of a tavern where he might stop for the first night on his return journey. The keeper of this tavern was Jacob Gunning, a man unknown to Robert, but one in whom the general had implicit confidence, for he had assured the young express that Jacob was a stanch friend of the colonies and that his house was a place where the patriots of the region frequently assembled. However, Jacob Gunning's patriotism was known only to a few, and the general had explained that Robert was to be guarded in what he might say to him in the presence of others, for the man could aid the continentals, at least for the present, more if his true position was not generally known.
Relying upon General Clinton's assurance, Robert at last decided to push on to Jacob's tavern and intrust to him the letter he had taken, and instruct him to see to it that the message should speedily be sent to those who were most threatened by the plot.
Relieved somewhat when at last this decision had been made, Robert Dorlon strove to banish all other things from his mind save that of arriving at the tavern in the speediest possible time. Nero appeared to realize that he was homeward bound, and required no urging to make him maintain a swift and steady pace. Occasionally when he drew near to some lonely farmhouse Robert's carefulness increased, and he maintained a keen outlook until he had left the place far behind him. Several times he stopped at the springs by the roadside to enable his horse to take a brief rest, and to rest himself; but every time he soon resumed his journey and found but little difficulty in following the directions which he had received at the fort. Only once did he meet any men, and that was when he had mounted Nero after a halt in a secluded spot where he had eaten the food which he had brought with him. Two men on horseback had approached, but though they had looked keenly at him, they had not spoken save to salute him gravely, and at once passed on. Robert was aware that they were both gazing at him as he rode on up the hill; but he had pushed steadily forward, and was relieved when he perceived that the strangers were not inclined to turn back or to molest him.
It was between five and six o'clock in the afternoon when he arrived at a house by the roadside which he recognized from the description he had received as the tavern of Jacob Gunning. A man was seated on the low piazza, his chair tipped back against the side of the house and his feet braced against one of the low posts. Robert had received no description of Jacob himself, but the man before him certainly did not present the aspect of the ordinary boniface. He was a tall lanky individual, evidently possessed of great physical strength, but his face was almost expressionless and to all appearances devoid of interest in the coming of a possible guest. At all events he did not move from his position when Robert halted directly in front of him.
"I'm looking for Jacob Gunning's tavern," said Robert. "Is this it?"
"That's the name it goes by," replied the man, without changing his position.
"Then I 'll stop here for the night," said Robert, leaping to the ground as he spoke. "Is Jacob Gunning here now?"
"I'm Jake Gunning. Nobody hereabouts ever calls me Jacob."
"Then you 're the man I'm after," laughed Robert. "Read that, will you?" he added, holding forth the letter which he had taken from the pocket of the helpless man in the bushes near Hannah Nott's home.
"Read it to me yourself," said Jacob. His voice was deep and guttural, but there was nothing in it to imply any interest in the letter or the stranger.
"I'd rather you would read it," said Robert, glancing uneasily about him.
"Ye need n't be scart. Nobody here 'll hurt ye. Read me the letter."
Suspecting that Jacob was not able to read, Robert stepped to his side and in a low voice read the letter through. The man's face was still apparently impassive as he said,—
"What's that to do with me, I'd like to know?"
"I want you to see that the letter gets at once into proper hands."
"Who are you?" demanded Jacob sharply, bringing his chair down upon the floor, and for the first time displaying any interest.
"I 've just come from Fort Montgomery," explained Robert.
"Where d' ye get this letter?"
"That does n't concern you," returned Robert. "You have the letter now. Will you see that it gets into the hands of those who ought to have it?"
"Put yer horse in the barn and come into the house." And as he spoke Jacob rose abruptly and entered the open door.