Slade eyed him narrowly.
“That,” said he, “will astonish Major Hyde.”
“No more than my learning that that same gentleman is a British spy astonished me,” replied George.
The fire was not burning as he desired it. Smiling quietly at the amazed look of Slade, George incautiously lowered the pistol and proceeded to arrange the dryest of the brush. This lapse was like to have been his last act on earth, for Slade bounded upon him like a wild beast. The pistol was knocked from his grasp, and he was crushed to the ground under the man’s bulk. But the few minutes that had passed since the first blow had seen the youth’s strength come back in a great degree. He twisted about, grappled with Slade, and they went writhing and rolling about in the snow.
The Tory had little idea of the work in which he was now engaged; with his tremendous power he should have beaten his lighter opponent into submission in short order. But, save in clumsy wrestling, he did not know how to use his strength. George, on the other hand, never missed a point; he clutched the other by the neck-cloth and twisted it until he had him gasping; and now and then, when he had a chance, he let go with one hand and dashed it into the contorted face.
With the blood streaming from mouth and nose, Slade continued the struggle; slowly the boy was strangling him; the breath labored in his huge chest; in the mounting firelight his small eyes seemed ready to start from his head.
During the entire fight, George’s great dread was that the fire might die out through want of attention. He did not fear Slade, or the outcome of the struggle; but that the waiting Americans upon the west bank might misread his signal gave him much anxiety. Even in the midst of the battling, he managed to keep his attention on the fire. Instead of dying out it grew stronger and stronger; indeed, it roared and sparkled bravely in the wind; its light made the hillside as plain as day. Amazed at this, George finally managed to twist about so in Slade’s clutch that he got a good view of the fire. Still more amazed was he to see a slight form hovering beside it and heaping brush upon it with a generous hand. And as he looked, a clear voice said:
“Never mind this; it is my work. Take care of that man, and leave the fire to me.”
With a sort of fierce joy in his heart, George proceeded to do as he was bidden. But Slade had heard the voice and now saw what was going forward. The fear of what might be the outcome of the beacon light caused him to lose his head. With a wild jerk he freed himself from the young man and leaped to his feet. As he rushed toward the blaze, George was after him like a cat, snatching his heavy pistol from the snow as he went. Slade’s arms were outstretched to seize the girl when the steel barrel fell upon his head; and like an ox he went down in his tracks.
“Now,” spoke the young man quietly, as he looked at Peggy Camp, “if you’ll be so good as to go on as you were, I’ll see to trussing this fellow up.”