CHAPTER XXXI
A FOOL’S ERRAND
When young Roland Bayard left the Forest Rest, with Leonidas Force’s supposed challenge in his pocket and on warlike thoughts intent, he walked rapidly on toward the Calvert House, an old-fashioned and highly respectable roadside establishment, half farmhouse, half tavern, notable for its pure liquors, fine tobacco and rare game—in season. It was a favorite house of call for travelers on that road, and of sojourn to strangers who might be detained by business or by accident in the neighborhood. It was full four miles from Forest Rest, but, as young Roland owned no saddle horse, he had to walk all the way—no very great hardship, indeed, for a strong, young man on a fine winter night, when the moonlit sky and the snow-covered earth made the scene almost as clear as day.
Roland crunched along the little footpath leading through the wood to the highway, and then walked rapidly over the hard, frozen road—a very solitary road at that hour of the night. High woods flanked it on either side, opening occasionally, now on the right and now on the left, to show some farmhouse, with its barns, fields, gardens and orchards.
It was still early in the winter evening when he reached the Calvert.
It was a very quiet-looking place, a two-story double brick house, rough cast, with white stucco, and having four dormer windows in the front roof, nine long windows in the upper floor and eight on the lower—that is, four on each side of the entrance door. On the right hand side was the public parlor; on the left hand side the bar.
A buggy and two saddle horses before the door were the only signs of business about the place.
Roland went into the bar, and inquired if Col. Anglesea was in the house.
“No; he has not been in since morning,” was the answer.
“When is he expected?” inquired Roland.