“You can’t fight ’em alone,” spoke the Porcupine wisely. “Of course,” with a grin, “you won’t be exactly alone, but you might as well be. I’m not much good in a fight. I’m not big enough.”
Nat silently sat upon his horse and pondered. Royce’s men were heavily armed; he knew that, for he had caught the glimmer of steel in the lights of Chew House. And that they were determined to carry out their project in spite of all opposition, he felt sure.
“If I faced them,” the lad muttered, “they’d laugh at me and cut me down.”
But he must have aid! He would turn about and ride to the City Tavern where those members of Congress, who had already arrived, were staying. The idea was seized upon eagerly; then almost immediately it was discarded.
“It will take too much time,” thought the young mountaineer. “And, another thing: Would they believe the story I’d have to tell?”
He was forced to admit that he did not think so. The thing was improbable and would be difficult to credit; valuable time would be consumed, and in the end he’d probably be forced to ride away as he came, and proceed upon his mission alone.
“And with not so many chances of success,” said Nat. “For while I’d be seeking to convince strangers that I was telling the truth, the Tories would have more than likely accomplished what they set out to do.”
A watchman’s lantern sparkled ahead as the man raised it and tried to make out the details of the two horsemen who stood so silently in the middle of the street. A bell struck midnight in a solemn, sonorous sort of way; the watchman lifted his voice and chanted:
“Twelve o’clock—a cloudy night—and all’s well!”
“The time’s drawing on,” remarked the dwarf. “Have you made up your mind?”