"If I can be of any service," said d.i.c.k, speaking as calmly as his heartbeats would let him, and meeting with hot cheeks the first look the girl's fine eyes ever cast upon him.

"I thank you," said Gerard, "but I fear nothing can be done. My sister speaks of a miniature portrait of our mother, who is dead. One of the robbers, the one called Jonathan, seeing the chain by which it was suspended from her neck, tore it from her and carried it away."

"I will try to recover it, sir," said d.i.c.k, bowing to the girl while he addressed the brother. Hearing a derisive "Huh!" behind him, d.i.c.k turned and saw Blagdon viewing him with a contemptuous smile, which was a.s.sumed to cover the chagrin caused by d.i.c.k's undertaking a task the officer himself had shirked. d.i.c.k reddened more deeply, with anger, but said nothing and went to the coach for his rifle and baggage. MacAlister, always accepting whatever enterprise turned up for him, promptly got out, with his own belongings, as also did the reverend gentleman, who explained that he had intended leaving the coach at the next village, to go thence by horse to his home at Shrewsbury. The vacant places were taken by the Canadians, accounts were settled with the driver, Gerard de St. Valier courteously thanked d.i.c.k again, giving him a New York address but begging him to reconsider so desperate a project, Catherine sent back one grateful but hopeless look, the driver cracked his whip, the coach rolled off, and the three men were left alone in the forest-bordered road.

After a brief consultation, in which it came out that the clerical gentleman was the Reverend Mr. McKnight, the Presbyterian pastor of Shrewsbury, it was decided that the three should go back to the last village pa.s.sed, which was nearer than the next one ahead, hire horses there, then return, and make for Shrewsbury by way, first, of the lane down which the robbers were said to have fled. They would stop at Freehold, report the robbery to the county authorities, and call for the services of sheriff and constable in hunting down the malefactors.

"If the loss were merely of money and horses," said the pastor, as the three trudged along with their baggage on their backs, "I should not stir far in the matter, seeing that the losers are apparently well supplied with this world's goods. But the young lady's sorrow at the loss of the keepsake was too much for me. It will be a kind of miracle if we get it back. The man f.a.gan is a desperate rascal, and so, for that matter, are Jonathan West and all the others. The man whom those young people heard giving orders to the rest was doubtless Fenton, who learned the blacksmith's trade at Freehold and was an excellent workman at it before he took to crime. These men will stop at nothing. When they are not at refuge in their sand-caves on the edges of swamps, among the brush, they are plundering, burning, and killing, by night, or spending their ill-gotten money at some low groggery in the pines. They will rob anything, from a poor tailor's shop to a wagon carrying grain to mill, and, though it doesn't sound like Christian charity to say so, they ought to be hanging now in chains from trees, as they probably will be some day."

At the village, so much time was lost in obtaining horses, that it was dark before the three arrived at Freehold, and therefore they put up for the night at the tavern next the court-house, which abode of justice was of wood, clapboarded with shingles, and had a peaked roof. In the tavern it was learned that Fenton and his gang had been seen pa.s.sing two miles east of the court-house, that afternoon, going towards Shrewsbury, three on horseback, the others in a wagon. Mr. McKnight visited a justice of the peace, the sheriff, and the constable; but, as it was now Sat.u.r.day night, those useful officers would not think of budging before Monday.

d.i.c.k feared that if a day were lost, even though the miniature should be recovered, the Canadians would have left New York before he could arrive there to restore it to them. Accordingly, the next morning, the three men set out alone towards Shrewsbury, the clergyman having stipulated that his share in the enterprise should be kept secret, lest his act might serve the undiscriminating as an example of Sabbath-breaking.

"I am clear in my conscience on that score," said the minister to Tom and d.i.c.k, "and, having put my hand to the plow in this business, I will not turn back. I can guide you to a rough drinking-place in the woods, where it is most likely the ruffians will be found. To counterbalance their superior numbers, we must use strategy, and we have in our favor the fact that most of them are likely by this time to be helpless with liquor."

"'Oh, that men should put into their mouths an enemy to steal away their brains!'" misquoted Tom, who thought it proper that he should speak piously in the presence of the minister.

"It is fortunate for us if they have done so, in this case," said the clergyman, with a smile. A moment later he sighed pensively. "My congregation will be disappointed this morning. I was expected to arrive home last night and to preach to-day. I have my sermon in my pocket."

"What is the text, sir, if I may be so bold?" asked Tom.

"Leviticus, sixth chapter, fourth verse: 'Then it shall be, because he hath sinned, and is guilty, that he shall restore that which he took violently away.'"

"By the powers," cried Tom, forgetting himself, "ye're like to get more results putting that text into action the morning than by holding forth on it frae your ain pulpit!"

Under the pastor's guidance, the party turned presently from the road into the pine forest, through which their horses pa.s.sed freely by reason of the complete absence of undergrowth. MacAlister and d.i.c.k had left their baggage at Freehold, and Mr. McKnight's was so light as to enc.u.mber him little. d.i.c.k and Tom had their rifles, while the minister carried Tom's pistol. They proceeded in silence some miles, now and then emerging on clear places, skirting swamps, and advancing over ground that became more and more sandy. At last, in the midst of woods, the minister held his finger to his lips, and all three stopped. From a distance came the sound of a coa.r.s.e voice singing in maudlin tones a tuneless song. The three dismounted, tied their horses to trees, and walked cautiously forward in single file, Mr. McKnight leading. A low, one-story log building came into view among the trees. At one end of it, under a shed roof, stood four horses and a wagon. The bawling of the song came through a small, unglazed window, of which the oiled paper was torn.

"They take their pleasure in security now," whispered the minister, halting a moment, "because the officers of justice will not break the Sabbath to attack them. On other days they would not be so unguarded. I will look through the window, and see how the land lies; then we shall decide what to do."

He led the way to the groggery and applied his eye to a slit in the oiled paper, while d.i.c.k and Tom stood on either side. In a moment, the preacher crouched down beneath the window, and, motioning Tom and d.i.c.k to do likewise, whispered:

"There has evidently been a fight. f.a.gan and another are lying on the floor with their heads bound in b.l.o.o.d.y rags. Another is lying near them, dead drunk, as his position shows. Jonathan West is sitting on the floor, also drunk; it is he who is singing. Fenton and Burke are playing cards, Fenton's back towards the door, Burke facing it. The keeper of the place is lying asleep on the bar, and his wife is behind it paring potatoes. If we are speedy, two of us shall have only Fenton and Burke and the woman to deal with, while one goes through West's clothes in search of the miniature."

"Then let us go in at once," said d.i.c.k.

"Softly," quoth the minister; "let us all understand what each is to do.

You, lad, perhaps should search West--"

"Nay," put in Tom; "trust me for that. I've plied my fingers on the battle-field, and can do the thing so quick I can tak' my ain fu' share of the fighting, too."

"You are right," said the pastor. "The door is unbarred. Let us all three burst in at once. You, lad, who look the strongest, deal with Fenton, the man sitting with his back to the door. Strike him down with the b.u.t.t of your rifle, and be ready to shoot if he attempts to rise. I shall take care of the other card-player. You, Captain MacAlister, search Jonathan West for the portrait, and keep your eye on the woman behind the bar. If I am not mistaken, she will prove the worst foe of all."

At MacAlister's suggestion, he and d.i.c.k each looked through the slit to get a view of the chosen field of battle. Then the three stepped softly around to the door. Each grasped his weapon tightly, and the minister pushed the door open. All made a move to rush in,--but started back on being confronted by Fenton and Burke, who stood, each with pistol raised, doubtless put suddenly on their guard by the sound of footsteps.

Old Tom was the first to recover from surprise. He made a swift lunge at Burke, which caught that person in the neck, almost breaking it, and sent him flying back into the room. Tom leaped after him, and was followed by the minister. Fenton turned to shoot the latter with his pistol, and d.i.c.k availed himself of this movement to bring down his rifle-b.u.t.t heavily on the rascal's unkempt head. Fenton did not fall, but, after staggering a moment, during which d.i.c.k reversed his weapon, turned to shoot the latter, uttering a savage curse the while; he thus opened his mouth wide, and d.i.c.k thrust the muzzle of the rifle therein, and forced Fenton rapidly backward into the groggery, to the very farthest corner thereof, pinning him therein with the rifle-muzzle in his mouth. "Drop the pistol, or I'll fire," cried d.i.c.k; and Fenton, perceiving his disadvantage, did so. d.i.c.k kicked the pistol towards the minister, who picked it up. The gentle McKnight had been raining blows on the head of Burke, who now succ.u.mbed and lay without protest, leaving the minister free to draw the woman's attention from Tom. She had run around the bar and threatened with her knife the deft-fingered MacAlister while the latter was going through West's clothes, an operation preceded by a quieting blow on the robber's skull from Tom's rifle-b.u.t.t. Of the four prostrate men, the drunkest one slept on through the fray, the two gory-headed rascals opened their eyes and looked on with apathy, while the proprietor got down off the bar and looked around for some weapon with which to take a hand. At this moment d.i.c.k, who continued to hold the ferocious but speechless Fenton against the wall, felt something smooth slipped into his left hand, heard from Tom the words, "'Tis yours to guard, lad," saw at an instant's glance that it was the miniature portrait of a woman, and thrust it into his waistcoat pocket. The proprietor of the place had now picked up a fowling-piece from a corner and was aiming it at d.i.c.k. It was knocked up by MacAlister, who then fell on its holder and was in a fair way to beat out his brains, when the woman, having seen her spouse in danger, abandoned her contest with the minister, and bounded panther-like at Tom. She lodged the point of her knife in his cheek, and drew it out for a second blow, whereupon the minister, putting a pistol in each of his coat-pockets, ran up behind her, caught her by the long hair, and dragged her out of the house. He did not stop until she was on her back on the ground. Before she could rise, Tom had sent her husband reeling with a final blow, and had come to aid the minister, knowing that the latter had more than a match in the woman. Tom placed his feet on her hair, which was lying about her head, and, digging his heels into the sandy earth, put the muzzle of his rifle against her forehead, and told her it was his custom, as a soldier, to make short work of cutthroat she-devils of camp-following buzzards. So she lay still, glaring and panting. Mr. McKnight reentered the groggery, aimed both his pistols at Fenton, and told d.i.c.k to release that worthy and back out of the place with rifle kept ready to shoot. d.i.c.k obeyed, and backed out side by side with the minister. A minute later, the three thief-hunters were running for their horses. They mounted, and made their way back to the place where they had turned into the pines from the road.

"And won't ye stand in danger of retaliation from the devils?" queried MacAlister, as Mr. McKnight turned to take leave.

"I think they were so drunk, and the thing was so quickly done, they did not know me from a stranger like yourselves. They would not suspect a minister of such work on a Sabbath day."

"Begorra, if more such work was done by ministers on Sabbath days, more of the wicked would get punishment in this world! By the Lord, 'twas a fine ill.u.s.tration ye gave of the penalties that follow wrong-doing, and none the waur for that ye thumped a rascal's head instead of the pulpit, and made the way of the transgressor hard instead of merely saying it was."

"That's the grandest minister I ever saw, and the only sermon I never went to sleep at," said MacAlister to d.i.c.k, as the two rode back towards Freehold, Mr. McKnight having taken his way towards Shrewsbury after a friendly farewell and a tender of his compliments to the young lady to whom d.i.c.k was to restore the miniature.

That night they slept at the village where they had hired their horses.

They had to lose another day in waiting till the stage-coach came along, and so it was Tuesday morning when they found themselves again on a "Flying Machine" bound for New York. This time MacAlister's face was tied up in cloths, the wound in his cheek being not serious, but vastly inconvenient for the time being. "Another war-scar, bedad!" quoth he. "A mark of the battle of Shrewsbury Pines."

The greater part of the journey was dampened by a series of April showers, but when they arrived at Paulus Hook and descended from the coach, the sun reappeared for a brief display before setting. As they crossed in the ferry to New York, that English-Dutch-Huguenot seaport town, in the midst of its hills and trees, seemed to smile upon them.

Looking out towards the bay, with its backing of green heights, d.i.c.k got his first hint of the ocean beyond, and was deeply stirred thereat. In those days a beach ran at the foot of bluffs that were crowned by gardens and other grounds behind the s.p.a.cious residences on the west side of Broadway. There was no commerce along the North River, all the Dutch Hudson sloops and the New Jersey boats rounding the point to make landing in the East River. d.i.c.k's gaze, coming in from the bay, past the green islands, close at hand, rested successively on the fort whose walls rose from sloping green banks, the governor's garden, the water ends of crooked streets, the little forest of masts in the East River, the tiny village of Brooklyn nestling at the foot of the heights on Long Island, and finally on the ferry landing-place, on which he and Tom presently set foot. On the recommendation of a fellow pa.s.senger on the ferry, they took lodgings in a small tavern near the Whitehall slip.

During supper d.i.c.k was absent-minded and perturbed. He was all afire to return the miniature to Miss de St. Valier. Tom advised him to wait till the next day, as it was now quite late. But d.i.c.k was fearful the Canadian party might depart before he could see them. Moreover, the prospect of again beholding the entrancing Catherine and receiving thanks from her own lips, although a delicious one, was also disquieting, and d.i.c.k was anxious to face the interview at the earliest possible moment. He therefore put himself and his clothes into the best possible appearance, and, while Tom sought the Coffee House, found the way to the boarding-house in Queen Street at which Gerard de St. Valier had told him the party would stay. At the door, where he inquired with much concealed trepidation, a black servant told him the Canadians had left. His heart sank, but rose again a moment later, when the mistress of the house, Mrs. Carroll, having overheard, told him the St. Valiers and Lieutenant Blagdon had gone to the King's Arms Tavern for their last night in New York, intending to take sloop the next morning for Albany.

It was now dark, the street lamps having been lighted for some time, and d.i.c.k decided that, after all, the morning would be the more suitable time for approaching the Canadians. Being very tired and desiring to rise early, he went to bed, and dreamt of the eyes of Miss de St.

Valier.

The next morning he made a hasty breakfast, and was already on the way to the King's Arms when it occurred to him that he might make himself ridiculous by intruding on the peerless Catherine too early. He therefore walked about the town awhile, viewing the markets near the East River; then going up Broad Street from the Exchange to the City Hall of that day; then admiring the marble image of William Pitt in a Roman toga, at Wall and William Streets; the great dry goods shops in William Street, up to Maiden Lane; the fine broad red and yellow brick residences, some with many windows, double-pitched and tile-covered roofs, bal.u.s.trades and gardens, in William Street, Queen Street, Hanover Square, and elsewhere: finally crossing to the Broadway, and beholding the leaden statue of King George, in the Bowling Green or parade-ground before the fort. At last he entered the King's Arms, which was next but one to the fine Kennedy house at the foot of the west side of Broadway, both facing the Bowling Green and fort. In the public room he saw Tom, who sat reading the New York _Gazette_, and who now merely winked at him, being of no mind to figure with him in the restoration of the portrait. d.i.c.k put on a bold face and asked the man in charge to announce him to Mr. and Miss de St. Valier.

"And, pray, what do you desire of them?" queried an insolent voice at d.i.c.k's elbow. He looked around and encountered Lieutenant Blagdon, who stood eyeing him with a manifest resentment that betrayed an uneasy divination of d.i.c.k's purpose.

d.i.c.k was on the point of answering hotly, but contented himself with a defiant look and the quiet reply:

"I wish to restore the portrait of which Miss de St. Valier was robbed while in your company last Sat.u.r.day."

Blagdon's wrath was now mingled with chagrin, at the confirmation of his fear that another had accomplished for the lady the task he had not offered to undertake. After a moment's pause, controlling his expression, he said:

"Miss de St. Valier and her brother left New York yesterday. As I sail after them on the next Albany sloop, you can give me the portrait. I'll carry it to them."

d.i.c.k looked the other in the face for a moment in surprise, then said, with a contempt as genuine as the lieutenant's was affected:

"You lie, you know they are still here."

"What!" gasped Blagdon, and turned to an Irish officer in whose company he was,--for there were still a few British troops in New York, the last of them not leaving the barracks in Chambers Street for Boston until June 6th. "By G.o.d, did you hear that?" And with great fury, Blagdon, who was himself unarmed, grasped the other officer's sword, drew it from the sheath, and would have thrust it into d.i.c.k's breast, had not the Pennsylvanian quickly leaped aside. Furious in turn, at so sudden and violent an onslaught, d.i.c.k caught the sword with both hands near the guard, wrenched it from Blagdon, and struck the latter heavily on the head with the hilt. The lieutenant fell, leaving a curse unfinished, and lay quite motionless on the floor.

After a moment, during which every one in the room stood startled, the Irish officer stooped over Blagdon, felt his head and chest, and said, looking up:

"He's done for! The blow has killed him!"

d.i.c.k heard a whisper in his ear, "Run for your life, lad!" and felt himself pushed aside by old Tom, who gave no sign of knowing him, and the seeming purpose of whose violent movement was to get a look at the prostrate man.

Mechanically, as in a dream, d.i.c.k took the hint and sped out of the tavern. As he issued forth, a picture of the Bowling Green with its statue and locust-trees, the green and gray fort and the one linden and two apple-trees that stood on the city side thereof, was imprinted lastingly on his memory, heedless as he was of it at the time. Still holding the officer's sword, and with no course determined on, he ran up the Broadway. He had not gone far, when he heard a shout behind him, doubtless from some witness of the blow, "Murder! Murder! Stop that man!" On he went, while the hue and cry gathered behind him. Up the roughly paved Broadway, steering wide alike of the house-stoops at the side and the gutter in the middle, he ran. Once, as he neared Trinity Church, he glanced back. The pursuing crowd behind him now looked a mult.i.tude, and at its head, crying "Stop that man!" louder than any other, but giving him a quick gesture to hasten on, was Tom MacAlister.

CHAPTER V.

FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL.

Despite the circ.u.mstances, d.i.c.k had a brief feeling of mirth at the ludicrous appearance of his comrade, who led the chase with such well-simulated zeal and a face still circ.u.mscribed by the white cloth used to keep in place the bandage on his cheek. Determined to resist capture to the last, now that he had adopted the course of flight, d.i.c.k plunged forward and on past Trinity Church. Broadway was not then a business street, and the few people whom d.i.c.k pa.s.sed or who emerged from the residences or cross streets did not know what was the matter until it was too late to head him off, so great a start he had of his pursuers. Before he had reached St. Paul's Church, he looked back again, whereupon Tom, with his hand before his body so that the pursuers behind him could not see it, motioned to turn off into the next cross street.

d.i.c.k obeyed, and was thus for a time lost to the sight of the party in chase. Presently the loud voice of Tom showed that he, too, had deviated into the cross street. d.i.c.k turned his head and saw that Tom was the only one who had yet done so. MacAlister now violently gesticulated to the effect that d.i.c.k should turn into some yard or other hiding-place.