“The British!” whispered Paddy, his hand going to his pistol.
“It may be,” said Ben. “And then it may not be.” He slipped from his horse and handed his bridle to Paddy.
“Is it going over there you are?” asked the latter, surprise in his tone.
“Yes,” said Ben. “It seems to me that this is something that should be looked into.”
Then telling Paddy to remain where he was until he called, Ben made his way through the darkness toward the light. This had now grown still and burned with a steadiness that showed that it was a lamp of some sort. Carefully Ben picked his way along a sort of cow path that branched off from the road, and in a very few minutes he came upon a huge fallen tree, against the trunk of which leaned a man holding a lantern in his hand. As Ben advanced toward him the man held up the light and chuckled.
“I thought you were not going to stop,” said he. “But I see you were on the lookout.”
“He who goes about with closed eyes on nights like these,” spoke Ben, “will be like to run into danger.”
“Dangers there be, and plenty,” said the man. He placed his lantern upon the fallen tree and took a few steps up and down, swinging his arms. And as he stepped there came a sharp, clicking sound; glancing down Ben saw that the man wore a wooden leg, the top of which was shod with iron. “Danger there be and plenty,” repeated the man with the wooden leg. “And that you’d find, sir, if you really went all the way to York.”
Ben glanced sharply at the man.
“And what,” asked he, “makes you think that I might be on my way there?”