The stranger quietly turned, and faced the hussar with a sullen frown, asking:
“Who are you to halt a peaceable farmer? I’ve as much right as you, and more, in this place.”
“Perhaps so,” said the hussar, coolly: “but in war-time we of the light cavalry take liberties that we support with our weapons. Who are you?”
“A peaceable farmer, as I said before,” answered the other, with a sullen scowl. “Who are you?”
“An officer on duty, my man, who doesn’t care to be trifled with. There are too many Indians and spies loose in these mountains for me to trust strangers. If you’re a peaceable farmer, you’re as sulky a looking one as I have seen. How far is it to Derryfield?”
“Four miles,” said the sullen stranger, gruffly. Then he turned away as if the colloquy was terminated, but the hussar was not going to let him off so easy.
“Halt!” he again cried, in his sharp tones, covering the other with his pistol. “Move another step, and it’s your last.”
The stranger obeyed the order with his usual sullen air, but the hussar’s voice showed that he was in earnest.
“Look here, Mr. Officer,” began the stranger, in a tone of injury, “I don’t see what you have against me to treat me in this way. Let me alone, or by the Lord, we’ll see if my rifle ain’t as good as your pistol.”
The hussar was close to him, as he spoke, and he was already beginning to handle his long rifle, when Adrian’s horse, obedient to his master’s will, made a sudden leap, which brought the soldier’s left hand to the shoulder of the recluse.