With astonishment written large upon his face, Revere obeyed, and Ezra did the same.
“What is it?” asked the rider from Boston. “Has anything gone wrong?”
Nat drew his pistol from the holster and coolly examined the priming.
“I don’t know,” replied he. “But it’s rather likely. Just ahead there is a person—perhaps several of them—who seems interested in us, in a cautious sort of way.”
As he spoke his keen eyes went to the face of Ezra; he saw it pale and the mouth twitch.
“It would be best,” proceeded Nat, evenly, “for you all to remain as you are. I’ll ride forward and look into matters a trifle.”
He was about to do so, but upon second thought checked his horse.
“Are you armed, Mr. Revere?” he inquired.
“I am,” answered the rider, promptly, and out came a squat, serviceable looking pistol.
“Good,” said Nat. Then he took the rifle from about his shoulders and threw it to Ben, who had ridden up and sat listening in silent amazement. “It’s loaded and ready,” proceeded the young mountaineer, “and it shoots straight, as you know. Cover my advance.”