The instant's pause seemed an eternity to Andy. Then calmly and with clear, uplifted eyes:

"The main road, sir, it being the safer and shorter!" Andy felt a moment's dizziness. Then a rough voice startled him:

"I know that boy, my lord; he was the one in the secret pa.s.sage, about which I told you. I shall not soon forget him."

"I thought you said your companion in the cave was dealt a stunning blow; surely this lad could have done no such thing," answered the Captain.

"I could swear to him, your lordship, though I saw him but for a moment as Martin went down, and the light went out. Hi! there, Martin, come here," he called. A man galloped up, a man with a dark bruise upon his forehead and eye.

"Martin, do you know that boy?" Martin looked, and in the clear light he saw and knew Andy at once; but something staggered him, and he stammered and shook.

"Did you strike this soldier?" asked the Captain impatiently of Andy.

"No, sir!" The words came sharply.

"You do not recognize him?" asked the officer of Martin.

"He--is--the--same!" Martin blurted. "We are losing time, my lord."

"There is no way to settle the thing here; we are losing time, and your story of that night in the cave is too important to overlook, Norton. If this is the boy we must deal with him later. The young scamp probably knows the roads well. Lead on, you rascal, but if you play any tricks and mislead us, my men shall pin you to a tree."

Ruth gave one despairing cry:

"He is lame," she panted. "For shame! How can he lead a mounted troop?"

"We'll go slowly. The game's nearly up, my girl," laughed Norton, "and a p.r.i.c.k of the bayonet"--he suited the word with an action, and prodded Andy on the arm--"will hurry the lamest patriot. Lead on, cave-crawler!"

Andy gave one look at Ruth. A look of bravery, appreciation, and mute thanks for her part of the work.

"It's all right, Ruth," he called back. "Tell mother I'll lead them straight enough and be home in an hour. Good-by."

By a winding way leading from the main road they went; through Apthorpe's place they cantered at their ease, and so came to the highway a mile beyond.

"There may be a shorter cut, my lord," suggested Norton; then he paused.

"Does your lordship observe there are no marks on the road that bespeak the recent pa.s.sing of a regiment? This should mean the young rebel's death!"

"He's a spy in the old fox's hire!" shouted another.

"String him up, along with the schoolmaster down at the Beekman place to-morrow morning!" roared a third. All was wild commotion in a moment.

But in that moment Andy took his chances and made for the thicket, and the hidden path over which he and Washington went that day that now seemed so long ago. A man leaned from a horse and tried to clutch him, lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. Confusion covered Andy's dash.

"He's gone!" yelled the man who had fallen.

"Which way?" shouted several in response.

Which way? Aye, that was the query. Which way!

Andy made for the dry bed of the stream. No rustling leaves must betray him. Not in flight was his safety now, but in silent hiding until darkness should come. Down into the muddy pool of the once rushing brook, rolled the boy. In the distance he heard:

"No trail here, my lord!" and he smiled grimly.

"Well, a lost lame rebel is of less account than the regiments ahead,"

shouted the Captain. "Bad luck to the young devil. Cut cross country and try the river road!"

"They have an hour to the good!" thought Andy, as he remembered the weary patriots and young Aaron Burr. Soon all was quiet, and with the palpitating silence a new thought grew in Andy's brain. "Better string him up to-morrow with the schoolmaster!" Whom did they mean!

"Schoolmaster! Spy!" The two words struck dully on the aching brain.

Suppose! Andy sat up and gazed wildly into the dense underbrush. "Could it be?" But no; the idea was too horrible.

The long shadows began to creep among the rocks they loved so well.

Still Andy sat staring into the awful possibility that the words conjured up.

"Schoolmaster! Spy!" He could stand it no longer. Cautiously he crept up the bank. Through all the excitement he had clung to his crutch. It must serve him well now. He set out determinedly toward the highway. Come what might, he must reach the Beekman place as soon as possible, and he hoped that the road was safe, owing to interest being centered elsewhere. In this hope he was right. Below and above him, excitement ran rife, but the highway seemed to belong to him alone.

CHAPTER VI

THEN MARCHED THE BRAVE

A terrible storm was coming up, after the sultry day. Andy's whole being centered upon the thought that he must reach the Beekman Place; and the coming storm might delay him. Only so far did it affect him. He felt no hunger; it troubled him a little that his mother and Ruth would worry about him, but nothing mattered so much as the solving of the doubt that was causing his heart and brain to throb.

Strangely enough, his lameness decreased as his excitement waxed greater, or it seemed to, and he considered it less. The birds stopped twittering their vesper songs, and huddled fearfully in their shelters.

A peal of thunder was followed quickly by another. The rocks took up the echo and prolonged the sound. Between, the flashes of lightning, the darkness could almost be felt, so tangible and dense it seemed. Once Andy fell and struck his head. The blow made him giddy, but the rain dashing in his face steadied him, and he plodded on. Then a glare in the distance attracted him. It was in the direction toward which he was going.

"A fire!" he muttered. "All the more reason for hoping they will not notice me." The town might burn, what matter, if only the way were free to the Beekman place.

It was still dark when he reached his destination, worn and haggard.

Over toward the greenhouse people were stirring about, and Andy rightly guessed that the prisoner, whoever he might be, was there. No luckier place could have been chosen, so far as Andy was concerned. It was surrounded by shrubbery through which he could creep right up to the building, providing, of course, that the sentinels did not see him. But the sentinels were relaxing their watch. The hours of the troublesome spy were nearly ended, and there could be little danger of any further trouble on his account.

Andy crept along, keeping to the bushes. The storm was nearly over, and no lightning could betray his motions now.

Once the gla.s.s house was reached, Andy looked eagerly in. There was a pile of rubbish in one corner, and a man was sitting upon a rude bench near it; between him and Andy, however, were two men with their backs to the boy, and they quite hid the face of the man upon the bench. The two were listening, and the third man was speaking. Andy was too far away to hear, but, gaining courage, he crept around to the other side of the house, and so came close to the group within. Something in the att.i.tude of the man upon the bench had caused the boy's heart to leap madly, then almost stop. He raised his eyes slowly--one look was enough!

Sorrow and ill-treatment had done their work, but the dear face was the same! Dauntless, undying courage shone upon the uplifted face.

It was the master! The errand, whatever it had been, was over. Success or failure? Andy could not tell from the calm features. Spy or hero!

What mattered? There sat the beloved friend, deserted and forlorn--still unconquered though the fetters bound him close.

"I would send, if your kindness will permit, these letters. They will make lighter the sorrow of them I love."

Andy bowed his head and clutched at his throat to stifle the rising cry.

A broken pane of gla.s.s near-by permitted him to hear clearly every word.

One man on guard had a low, brutal face, the other, Andy noticed, had a more humane look.

"Have you the letters written?" asked the coa.r.s.e fellow.