“Oh!” cried Lawton, “your claims are indisputable; while all these vile Tories[85] who live at home peaceably, to take care of their farms, will be held in the contempt they merit. You have no farm, I suppose?”
“Not yet; but it will go hard if I do not find one before the peace is made.”
“Right; study your own interests, and you study the interests of your country; press the point of your own services and rail at the Tories, and I’ll bet my spurs against a rusty nail that you get to be a county clerk at least. Men who have nothing, act as if the wealth of the Indies depended on their fidelity; all are not villains like yourself, or we should have been slaves to England years ago.”
“How!” shouted the Skinner, starting back, and dropping his musket to the level of the other’s breast; “am I betrayed, and are you my enemy?”
“Miscreant!” shouted Lawton, his sabre ringing in its steel scabbard as he struck the musket of the fellow from his hands; “offer but again to point your gun at me, and I’ll cleave you to the middle.”
“And you will not pay us, then, Captain Lawton?” said the Skinner, trembling in every joint, for just then he saw a party of mounted dragoons silently encircling his whole party.
“Oh! pay you—yes, you shall have the full measure of your reward. There is the money that Colonel Singleton sent down for the captor of the spy,” throwing a bag of guineas with disdain at the other’s feet. “But ground your arms, you rascals, and see that the money is truly told.”[86]
The intimidated band did as they were ordered, and while they were eagerly employed in this pleasing avocation, a few of Lawton’s men privately knocked the flints out of their muskets.
“Well,” cried the impatient captain, “is it right—have you the promised reward?”