“My horse—put the saddle on him as quickly as you can and bring him around to the door.”
Grumbling to himself, Peter quitted the apartment. George adjusted his shoulder belt with its steel hilted hanger; also, he looked sharply to the priming of a pistol which he stuck into his belt; then he paced the floor, waiting for his mount.
The horse’s iron shoes rang upon the stones; and in a few moments George was in the saddle once more and headed away toward Bayard’s woods.
CHAPTER XII
TELLS HOW TWO PEOPLE PEERED THROUGH THE
WINDOW OF THE OLD MILL
The night was without moon or stars, but the low, coppery sky made things distinguishable, and the horse ridden by George Prentiss had no difficulty in maintaining a steady lope.
Once outside the city proper, the rider struck across the meadows, knowing that Bayard’s woods were no great distance from Washington’s headquarters. Entering a path that skirted the wood, he pushed along until he saw the glow of lights through a growth of heavy trees.
“That will be the tavern,” said George. “For none but a public house would have so many candles burning.”
Quietly he rode forward; suddenly his horse snorted and reared; only a good seat and a firm hand saved the young New Englander from a fall. His keen eyes, by this time well accustomed to the semi-darkness, saw a dark shadow flit across his path.
“Hello,” he called, and his right hand clutched the pistol butt, “take care, there.”
The unknown made no answer; and the rustling of the thick, spring growth showed that no pause was made. George held in his nervous horse, his eyes searching his surroundings as best they could. But the shadow had disappeared into the thicker ones beyond, and all was silence.