“Where do we make the first stop?” inquired Nat, of Revere.
“We should reach Bristol at sundown or a little before,” replied the man.
“Bristol!” cried Ben. “Why, we could make——”
But Revere interrupted him.
“I know,” said he. “So we could. And we could make some other place, equally far off, to-morrow. Then we could sit for a couple of days at an inn and twiddle our thumbs while the saddle-galls were healing or the nag’s swollen legs going down.”
Ben felt properly rebuked; but he laughed good humoredly.
“I guess you’re right,” said he. “So you’ll have to content yourself as you are, Molly,” to the frisky mare. “You’ve never been on so long a journey as this; and maybe at the end you’ll be sedate enough.”
As they struck into the long, dusty wagon roads some distance north of Philadelphia, Revere and Ezra rode on ahead. After a time, the watchful Nat noted a marked peculiarity in the manner of Ezra. The latter had been very quiet and thoughtful since leaving the city; and now there was an anxiety in his whole attitude that could not be mistaken. Even the unsuspecting Ben noticed it.
“Wonder what’s wrong with Ezra,” he said, with a laugh. “He keeps turning his head from one side to the other as though it had been shaken loose.”
“He is entrusted with a document of some importance,” said Nat quietly. “Perhaps he is a little anxious for its safety.”