"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.