Thus encouraged, and somewhat impelled by the opinion that he both sang and wrote with taste, the surgeon set about complying with the request in sober earnest. Some little time was lost in clearing his throat, and getting the proper pitch of his voice; but no sooner were these two points achieved, than Lawton had the secret delight of hearing his friend commence—
“‘Hast thou ever’”—
“Hush!” interrupted the trooper. “What rustling noise is that among the rocks?”
“It must have been the rushing of the melody. A powerful voice is like the breathing of the winds.
“‘Hast thou ever’”—
“Listen!” said Lawton, stopping his horse. He had not done speaking, when a stone fell at his feet, and rolled harmlessly across the path.
“A friendly shot, that,” cried the trooper. “Neither the weapon, nor its force, implies much ill will.”
“Blows from stones seldom produce more than contusions,” said the operator, bending his gaze in every direction in vain, in quest of the hand from which the missile had been hurled. “It must be meteoric; there is no living being in sight, except ourselves.”
“It would be easy to hide a regiment behind those rocks,” returned the trooper, dismounting, and taking the stone in his hand. “Oh! here is the explanation along with the mystery.” So saying, he tore a piece of paper that had been ingeniously fastened to the small fragment of rock which had thus singularly fallen before him; and opening it, the captain read the following words, written in no very legible hand: “A musket bullet will go farther than a stone, and things more dangerous than yarbs for wounded men lie hid in the rocks of Westchester. The horse may be good, but can he mount a precipice?”
“Thou sayest the truth, strange man,” said Lawton. “Courage and activity would avail but little against assassination and these rugged passes.” Remounting his horse, he cried aloud, “Thanks, unknown friend; your caution will be remembered.”