He went at once to the place where his horse was kept, saddled, bridled and mounted it.
“There may be some risk,” he told himself, as he rode out of the guarded town. “And perhaps I should have asked Ben or Nat or George to go with me. But there is no time for that, if I am to go to-night. And like as not it is a quiet country place, with never a spice of danger in it.”
The way took him along a narrow road bounded by stretches of grazing land. The sheen of the sky showed him the smooth swelling rise of two large hills ahead, the twinkling, far-off stars seemed peering down searching fearfully for dangers among the darkness.
The directions of the man at Charlestown had been unusually good, for after a deal of weaving in and out and the crossing of fields, the boy caught the twinkle of lights from a building ahead. As he came up he found a lantern swinging above the door; and mounted upon a post in the light of this he saw a rough painting of an Indian’s head, which seemed to serve as a sign.
“This is the place, sure enough,” he said.
He at once got down. He had probably not been heard to approach; no one came out to take his horse, so he tied it to a post near the door, slipped his long pistol into the breast of his coat, and coolly entered at the door.
The very first thing that met his eyes were two men seated upon a settle engaged in earnest talk; one had a large, plumed hat beside him on the floor; he wore long soft leather boots and a heavy sword.
“Gilbert Scarlett!” breathed Ezra.
Instantly his eyes went to the person who sat beside the adventurer. Something that Scarlett had said seemed to amuse the other, for just as Ezra turned his attention to him, he uttered a high-pitched, disagreeable laugh.
And then, to make identification doubly sure, the head turned slightly. And Ezra saw that the man’s forehead was very narrow and very high.