So a rider was despatched instantly to Boston for additional troops; and as he dashed eastward, the light infantry battalion under Pitcairn took its way to the west. Chesbrook accompanied this advance force, and Nat, his captors having their original plan, apparently, still in mind, was ordered with them also.
“But I recognize no man that is captured on the way,” vowed the boy, his jaw set. “Let them do as they will, I’ll stick to that.”
Dawn was beginning to streak the east with lines of gray when Nat made out young Prentiss forcing his way afoot through the compact mass of the battalion.
“It will soon be daylight,” said he, when he had approached near enough to speak.
Nat gave a look at the sky.
“Within an hour,” returned he briefly.
Somehow his resentment against the New England boy was not at all as strong as he thought it should be. Treachery, all forms of unfaithfulness and deceit had long been Nat’s pet aversions, but for all that he could not lift himself to the pitch of anger that he felt the other’s acts deserved.
The rhythmic tramp of the troops continued and the rattle of equipment was sharp and distinct in the dawn. Now and then the low command of a sergeant was heard, but all other voices were silent.
“Another hour till daylight,” said Nat, after a pause, “and then, I fancy, we shall see desperate work!”
“Do you really believe that?” asked the other boy, and his tones were anxious and eager.