“Volunteers are demanded to cross the river and learn the enemy’s strength.”
“You are one,” and George sprang up, knocking over the stool upon which he had been sitting and causing the crazy little hut to vibrate with his eagerness.
Nat nodded. George dashed open the door and was away. The winter blast swept in and the blaze roared up the rude chimney. Ben closed the door, his lips puckered in a whistle.
“There, now,” said he. “What did I tell you? Something’s over there,” and he jerked his head in the direction of the river, “that’s on his mind. The only wonder to me is that he hasn’t crossed before now, orders or no orders.”
In about half an hour George reappeared.
“I go with you,” he said, his eyes alight and with more spring in his step than they had seen for some time. Their arms hung upon the wall, and instantly he took down his pistol and began putting it in order.
“There is no need to hurry matters,” answered Nat, quietly. “Great speed at a time like this is as like to bring disaster as anything else. Take time; more than bustle will be required to land us within the British lines—in safety.”
George had great respect for Brewster’s shrewdness and resourcefulness; so holding his eagerness in check, he sat down and began recharging the pistol.
“You’ve been thinking the matter over,” said he to Nat.
The latter nodded.