II
The boys were up early, overjoyed to see a brilliant, sunshiny day. Mrs. Markham provided an ample luncheon, and with Verney and the Colonel in front of the sleigh, and the twins and Tom well muffled up on the back seat, the party sped away, the snow creaking under the runners. The twins talked, laughed, and sang, while Tom sat still, thinking.
They paused again and again in Germantown and beyond it to inspect positions or to talk to officers. At Chestnut Hill they drove down the westward slope and finally came upon the farther picket line below the hill. Verney, an engineer officer, thought a field work was needed at this point. Accordingly, the two officers got out, leaving their fur overcoats in the sleigh, as the air was now warmer and they had to tramp some distance through the heavy drifts of snow.
The Colonel put Montresor’s map in the pocket of his fur coat, which he folded and laid in the sleigh. Verney also left the Count’s rich sable at the feet of the twins.
“We shall be gone half an hour, boys,� said Verney. “Had we not better call a corporal from the fire yonder to stand by the horses?�
“Lord, man,� said Grimstone, “they would stand till night. They are dead tired. Won’t you want the map?�
“No,� said Verney; “I know it by heart.�
About a hundred yards distant was a great campfire and just ahead of them an outlying picket of two soldiers, one on each side above the road. Tom sat on the front seat, the reins in his hand. Of a sudden a mad idea came into his mind.
The map was in the sleigh. The two officers were far away, tramping through the drifts. Before him lay the lonely highway. He would take the map to Washington. He forgot the peril of the mad venture now tempting him, or gave it but a boy’s passing thought. His summers had been spent at a farm near White Marsh. He knew the country well. The temptation was too much for him.
A man would have realized the difficulties and the danger for the smaller boys. He did not. A boy’s mind is more simple. The risks for himself were merely additional temptations.
He stood up, the reins in his hand, and gazed anxiously after the retreating forms of the two officers. Then he turned to his brothers.
“Get over in front, Bill; quick, and don’t make a noise.�
There was mischief in the air as Bill at once knew. He climbed over the seat and waited.
“Hold fast, Harry,� said Tom. “These horses are going to run away.�
“Oh, let me out,� cried Harry.
“No, hold on, and keep quiet.�
“What fun!� cried Bill. “We are to have a ride all to ourselves.�
“Do you whack the horses, Bill. They’ll go. Wait a moment.� He gave one last look around him and ahead.
Beyond the picket the road ran straight for a mile. He had his moment of final hesitation, but it was soon over. No one was in sight near by, and his eyes roamed over the trackless vacancy of snow-clad spaces into which the highway disappeared.
“Are you ready, Bill?� he said, handing him the whip.
“All right,� said Bill, seeing desirable mischief ahead and enjoying the prospect.
Harry was less eager, but, ashamed to confess his fears, said bravely, “Well, Tom, hurry up.�
“Now,� said Tom, “do you, Bill, hit the horses with the whip, not too hard. They’ll go.�
They did go, for Bill, enchanted, had to be stopped. In an instant they were off and away at a mad gallop over a much-used road.
“By George!� roared the Colonel. “The horses have run away!�
The soldiers shouted, the picket ran down to the road, too late, and furious at this unwonted treatment the horses ran. A mile or more went by before the heavy snowdrifts of a less-used road lessened their speed. On a hillcrest Tom stood up and looked back.
“Guess we are safe, boys,� he said. “It’s good there were no horses about.�
As the sleigh moved more slowly at a trot, Bill said, “It was a first-class runaway!� and Harry, reassured, asked if it wasn’t time for lunch.
Tom said no, and kept his eye on the road, which by one o’clock became hard for the horses, as the drifts were heavier.
At last he pulled up for luncheon and to rest the team. As the twins were now pretty cold Tom got out the fur coats.
“There are only two,� said Harry.
“Oh, I’ll fix that,� said Tom. And this was his way: he threw the heavy sable coat over the boys’ shoulders, and while Harry put his right hand into the right sleeve Bill put his left hand into the left sleeve. When Tom had them buttoned up, the two red faces being close together in the middle, he called them a double-headed bear and roared with laughter as he himself put on the Colonel’s coat.
“Won’t he say things!� said Bill, and they went on, but now only at a walk. Harry did not like it, but, ashamed to confess his fears, kept quiet.
They met no one. The distant farms were hidden by the snow-laden forests. The drifts became heavier. Now they were off the road and now on. There were no marks of recent travel. It was Christmas; the farmers at home. Both the twins had become silent, Tom more and more anxious as he missed his well-known landmarks. At last a dead tree on the road let him know that he was about six miles from the Forge. The horses had come quite nine miles or more through tiring drifts. Now and then their feet balled and Tom had to get down and beat out the packed snow.
Finally the horses could do no more than walk. It was well on to four o’clock, but at this he could only guess. He began to be troubled about the twins and a little to regret having made his venture. If they came to a stop with no house in sight, what could he do? To walk to the camp would be even for him hard and for the twins impossible. Again he stopped the horses for a rest, a formidable drift lying ahead and filling the road.
By this time Bill had lost much of the joy of mischievous adventure. He began to think it was time for them to return home, and Harry had asked over and over how soon they would go back. Tom at length ceased to answer him as it drew toward evening.
There was a new sharpness in the air, a warning to Tom of what night would bring. He stood upon the seat and searched the white-clad land for a house or the wood opening which might lead to one. He saw no sign of habitation to which he could go in person for help. And how could he leave his brothers? Even to turn homeward in the narrow road among the drifts would have been, as he saw, quite out of the question. What else was there but to go on?
Even at this worst minute of his daring adventure the boy could have cried at the thought of failure. He felt the map and Verney’s sketch under his waistcoat, thought of his father, a prisoner, and then cheering up the twins, used the whip on the weary horses, who plunged into the great mound of snow.
A trace snapped, the sleigh turned over on its side, the horses kicked, broke loose, and fled away down the road and were soon lost to view.
Tom got on his feet and looked for the twins. For a moment they were out of sight. Then the huge drift began to shake and their four legs were seen kicking above the snow, whence Tom pulled out the two-headed bear. Bill laughed. Tom did not. Harry looked his alarm.
All three working hard were able to right the sleigh after beating away a part of the drift. After that they climbed in and ate what was left of the food, but were not quite so merry as before, while Tom, made savage by failure, would neither eat nor talk.
At last he stood up on the seat.
“Shut up, Gemini,� he said, “I hear something. Now,� he said, turning, “mind you, if these I hear are British we were run away with. Hush!� He heard in the sharp, frosty air the clink of sabres and soon the thud of horses’ hoofs in the snow.