This settled matters with the listener. Here was the real Ira, and the thing to do was to outwit and capture him, call back his friend, and then their plans might go on as arranged. With this object in view he edged slowly along towards the intruder, saying innocently:
“I never saw you before, an’ I’ve nothin’ belongin’ to you, sir, but—” and with a tremendous bound he caught his antagonist’s gun, tearing it from his grasp. Flinging it away, he seized the owner by the body, pinning his arms to his sides, and then finished his sentence, “I’ve got you.”
To his surprise there was no struggle. Instead, a voice he knew well cried out laughingly:
“Well done, Joe; but you must admit I as neatly fooled you. I guess I shall be able to play my part at the British quarters.”
“It looks like it, I swaney,” Joe said a little sheepishly. Releasing his prisoner, he stepped away a few feet and looked him over again, this time more critically.
“It beats anythin’ I ever heard of,” he at length declared. “Though I knew you were goin’ to rig up in some way, I thought the real Ira had stolen a march on us, an’ got into camp—leastwise, you seemed like the real Ira to me, though I’ve never set eyes on him. Unless the red-coats know him better than I do, they’ll take you for him, sure.”
“Of course it is possible more than one of the British officers may know Le Geyt,” the lad said thoughtfully, “or some person come into the lines who has seen him. But I think the risk is small. His visits to this part of the state have not been frequent, and, while his name is familiar, his face and form are not. I flatter myself I have a make-up that quite resembles him, and believe I can successfully carry out the part. Let us have breakfast, and then I will be off.”
As he spoke he dropped his pack beside the gun, and, going to the fire, helped himself to the smoking food. Joe followed his example, and they ate almost in silence.
The meal finished, Ira removed his huge boots, and, adding them to his bundle, started down the brook. His comrade followed as far as the great maple, and from there watched, as he, after resuming his foot-gear, walked slowly toward the British camp.
He would have been greatly excited had he witnessed what befell the traveler a few moments later. Emerging from the ravine, he had gone but a few rods when a stalwart Indian leaped from a thicket and grasped him by the shoulder. The next instant a half-dozen more surrounded him. Though offering no violence, it was clear they intended to make him a prisoner.