In the Days of Washington Part 13

"Aye, we'll have a reckoning then," replied Barnabas. "Every Redcoat will stand for Wyoming--Hist! who comes?"

Soft footsteps were heard, and a settler named Morgan Proud glided up to the rock. "Four of ye?" he said, peering at the group. "I won't be intrudin', men, but I followed hither for a purpose. Do you want arms?"

"Do we?" exclaimed Barnabas. "An' kin you pervide them, man?"

"That I can," said Proud. "When we come up to the fort from Wilkesbarre yesterday--ten of us--we brought nearly two muskets apiece along. But we hid the guns and ammunition down by the river, half expectin' the fort would be surrendered and all arms given up. And we acted wisely--"

"Lead the way, man," broke in Barnabas. "This deed'll win you a golden crown some day. But are you sure the stuff is there yet?"

"They're well hid," replied Proud, "and I told our men, who just started, to take a musket apiece and leave the rest. Will your party join us, Barnabas? We're going down river in flat-boats from Wilkesbarre."

"We have an errand over yonder first," said Barnabas, jerking his thumb northward. "We might ketch up with you, but don't wait on us."

"No, we'll take no risk," Proud answered, "seein' as we'll have women and children dependin' on us. But you're welcome to the arms all the same."

Without further speech he led the party obliquely toward the river, and they came speedily to a windfall under the bluff. Proud's friends had been here and gone, but the extra muskets were safe in their hiding place. The man handed out the requisite number, adding a generous supply of powder and ball.

"I'll wait here a bit," he said. "There'll be others coming by, and I have three guns left."

Barnabas and his companions wished him farewell and good luck, and then mounted the bank and struck into the woods. Now that they were armed they felt like new men, and a great weight was lifted from their minds.

In single file they made a detour to the rear of the fort, and pressed rapidly northeast through the woods for a mile and a half, speaking not a word on the way. Every heart beat faster as the northern edge of the battle-field was skirted, and now a sharp turn was made to the left. Ten minutes later, as the moon peeped above the horizon, the party reached a little cabin in a clearing. The tears came into Nathan's eyes as he saw the home where his happy boyhood had been spent--the spot sacred to the memory of his lost father. Here was the spring, and there the out-shed where the winter's supply of logs was always stored. The path leading to the step could still be traced between the weeds and gra.s.s.

"Cheer up, lad," said Barnabas, divining his thoughts. "It'll all come right in the future. And now we'll be making that search."

They entered the cabin, the door of which was wide open. It had escaped the torch of the Indians, and the interior was much as it had been left on the day when Captain Stanbury started for the war. The end window was closed, but the shutter was off the one in front. The ladder still led to the sleeping-loft overhead, and in the room down-stairs were a table and a broken chair. A few earthen dishes stood on the shelf, and a layer of ashes covered the fireplace.

"It's a bit out of the way," remarked Barnabas, looking around, "an'

that's why no one has lived here since. Where shall we begin, lad?

Which, to your mind, is the most likely spot? The captain said the papers were under the floor."

"I never knew the boards to be loose," Nathan answered, in a husky voice. "Suppose we try the fireplace."

"A good idea," approved Barnabas. By the light of the moon he sc.r.a.ped the ashes off the big slab of stone that was set in the floor of the chimney, and he was about to pry the stone itself loose when something seemed to occur to him. He straightened up, and glanced toward the door.

"What is the matter?" asked Nathan.

"I'm thinking of Simon Gla.s.s," Barnabas answered.

"Why, I forgot all about him," exclaimed Nathan. "He and what was left of his party must have turned back. I didn't see them at the fort."

"But I did, lad," declared Barnabas. "Gla.s.s marched in with the Rangers, and that young G.o.dfrey was close behind him."

"Yes, I seen 'em both," corroborated Atwood.

"I was watching the Indians all the time, and Colonel Butler," said Nathan. "So Gla.s.s has arrived then? But you don't think he'll give us any more trouble?"

Barnabas only shook his head.

"McNicol," he said, "stand yonder by the door, an' keep your ears to the wood. Watchin' won't come amiss."

The man went to his post, and Barnabas stooped down and lifted the slab.

He dropped to his knees, dug rapidly into the dirt with a knife, and lifted out a flat tin box, much rusted. He forced the lid open and handed Nathan a packet of papers sealed with green wax.

The lad pressed it reverently to his lips. "I won't look at them," he declared. "The seal shall remain unbroken until I find my father, or until I am satisfied that he is dead."

"It would be wise to learn the contents, lad," said Barnabas.

Nathan shook his head. "My father's secret is sacred to me," he replied.

"If he is alive, he would wish me to guard it, I know. But the papers must not be lost. Will you keep them for me?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: BARNABAS HANDED NATHAN A PACKET OF PAPERS]

Barnabas readily--even eagerly--a.s.sented. The packet was not large, and he thrust it deep down into one of his wide-topped boots. "It's just damp enough not to crackle," he said, as he dropped the slab back into place, and cunningly strewed the ashes over it again--a wiser bit of forethought than he knew.

"Now," he added. "We'll be off--"

"Hist, men!" McNicol interrupted, in a whisper. "Come hither, quick!"

The three joined the Scotchman at the door, but they did not need to ask what he meant. The forest was alive with whispering voices--with the pa.s.sage of feet over dry twigs and rustling gra.s.s. A light danced among the thick foliage.

It was too late for retreat, and, as the little band crouched behind the shadowy doorway, they beheld a startling sight.

By twos and threes a group of Tories and Indians glided into the glade, close to the spring. The two foremost held a shrinking man between them, and as they came nearer, one said aloud, in a familiar voice that made Nathan shudder: "Is this the place, you rebel dog?"

"It's Captain Stanbury's cabin," muttered the prisoner, who had evidently been made to serve as an unwilling guide.

"You know what you'll get if you're lying," Simon Gla.s.s--for it was he--replied with an oath. "Come, men," he added.

"G.o.d help us!" whispered Barnabas. "There's no escape unless we kin keep hid. But they're comin' to the cabin, an' Colonel Butler's promise won't count with such fiends. They'll kill every man of us in cold blood."

Low as the words were spoken, they reached the ears of the enemy, and a creaking noise made by McCollum's heavy boots completed the betrayal.

"There are rebels here!" roared Simon Gla.s.s. "Don't let a blasted one escape! Surround the cabin!"

"It's all up," cried Barnabas. "Give 'em a volley, an' remember the ma.s.sacre. Now--fire!"

Four muskets flashed and roared, and, as the echo fled down the valley, the night rang with yells of rage and agony.

There was no time to look for the result of the volley through the drifting smoke. Barnabas instantly slammed the door shut, and dragged the heavy table against it. "Down, all of you," he shouted. "Stick to the floor. Nathan, you guard the rear wall, an' watch through the cracks of the logs. McNicol, you an' Atwood take the two ends. I'll tend to the open winder here in front."

The three crawled to their posts of duty, and for a time the silence outside was broken only by an occasional moan of pain. The wary enemy had taken to cover at once, until they could learn the strength of their a.s.sailants.

"Did you kill Gla.s.s?" McNicol whispered across the room.

"He ain't in sight," replied Barnabas. "He moved his head just as I fired. The Tory with him is lyin' dead here on the gra.s.s, an' the prisoner is beside him--he's better off, for he'd a been tomahawked anyway. An' there's a wounded Indian dragging hisself past the spring.

I won't waste powder on the wretch."

"Gla.s.s must have learned where we were bound, and followed us here for revenge," said Nathan.