In the confusion which followed Frederick managed to get near John.
“The pass?” he asked. “Do you have the pass?”
“It’s burned. I put it in the stove.”
“Good!” This much evidence was gone, anyway.
Henry fought like a tiger. Inside the house, Old Missus heard the uproar and came out back.
“Henry! Henry! They’re killing Henry!” she shrieked. Her son rushed to her, trying to explain. She pushed him away. “Stop them! Stop those ruffians!”
Finally they had Henry overpowered. As he lay on the ground trussed and bleeding, Frederick and John, helpless though they were, stood accused in their own eyes because they too had not resisted. John cried bitterly, in futile rage. Frederick stood rigid, every breath a separate stab of pain. Mrs. Freeland, her own eyes wet, tried to comfort John.
“Don’t, Johnny. I know it’s all a mistake. We’ll fix it. We’ll get you and Henry out of it!”
They took Sandy, whose black face remained unfathomable. Then the tobacco planter spoke.
“Perhaps now we’d better make a search for those passes we understand Captain Auld’s boy has written for them.”