At the end of the second hour he had accomplished at least nine miles of the distance, and could well afford to indulge in a brief halt while partaking of his food.
"Nine miles from home means eleven from Portsmouth," he said aloud, as if the sound of his own voice gave him encouragement. "By this path Salem cannot be more than twenty-four miles away, and I must make it in five hours in order to reach Boston by sunrise. It can be done if I do not allow myself too much time in which to rest my legs, and-"
He ceased speaking very suddenly, for at that instant, as if they had descended from the clouds, two horsemen stood before him.
The moss-covered path had deadened the sound of the animals' approach as they came up from the rear.
Walter recognized both the new-comers. The foremost was Samuel Haines, a man who had made an unsuccessful attempt to get the appointment to distribute stamped paper in New Hampshire, and the other James Albert, a half-breed Indian, who was well known in Portsmouth as a quarrelsome fellow, ready to take part in any business, however disreputable, so long as he was provided with an ample supply of rum.
Walter nodded familiarly to Haines, but paid no attention to the Indian.
"Wait a moment, Master Neal," the former said, gravely, as Walter attempted to pass him. "Where are you going that you cannot stop for a short converse?"
"On business which admits of no delay."
"Do you expect to walk from here to Boston before daylight?"
"Who said I was going to Boston?"