Ethan was back at the fort in a few moments’ sharp run. Longsword and a seaman named Freeman were given him and they started toward the house which Ethan had in mind. Now as it happened this Freeman was an Englishman and the very worst man in the Ranger to be selected for the work in hand.
The house proved to be a small public inn, and the young American hammered upon the door loudly with the heavy butt of a pistol. As no answer came Longsword dealt the door a brace of lusty kicks that made the entire structure rattle.
“They seem to be sound sleepers,” said Freeman, who had remained very quiet up till then. “Suppose I go around to the rear and see what can be done.”
He did not wait for Ethan’s permission but at once disappeared around a corner of the building. A nervous tremble in the man’s voice caused the Irishman to instinctively suspect something. He also turned the corner a moment later, and saw Freeman speeding away towards the town.
“Master Ethan,” roared the dragoon. “He’s off.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“The Englishman. There he goes, as fast as his legs can take him.”
“We’ll have the whole of Whitehaven here in short order now,” said Ethan. “He’s gone to give the alarm.”
“Not if I can stop him,” shouted the ex-trooper. He threw up his pistol with a quick, expert snap of the arm, and fired. Freeman half-halted, tottered a little, but continued on toward the town almost as fast as before.
“You got him,” said Ethan.