For a moment the doctor scrutinized the boy's face. Then he got down from the pony. "I was going to farmer Tonwell's, who's down with his rheumatism again, but he shall wait. I wouldn't do this at every boy's word, but you look as if you know what you're about, and I will take the chance."
Already Noel had sprung to the saddle and turned the pony back toward the village.
"Look out for my saddle-bags," said the doctor. "There's enough costly drugs in them to kill all the English in Canada. I'll follow on slowly, and 'twill go hard with you if you've been trifling with me."
But the boy was out of hearing. It seemed as if Providence had come to the aid of his weak body, and Noel, with renewed hope of reaching the village in time to give the alarm, urged on the sturdy white pony.
They had almost reached the outskirts of the little town when a man on horseback rode into the middle of the road, and confronting Noel, ordered him to stop. Noel thought he recognized the dress of the Canadian scouts. He bent low on the saddle and struck the pony sharply. An instant later a rifle blazed in his face. Then he realized that in some way the white pony had got by the other horse and was galloping down the road, terrified by the rifle's flash. The scout's pony was close behind.
The white pony was running as it had not done since it was a colt in lower Canada, and had carried its habitant master in many a race, and won them, too. Noel was conscious of a feeling of exultation; for he saw that the scout was losing ground. He cried out to his pursuer in French, and started to wave his hand in a derisive farewell. The effort caused a sharp pain to shoot through his arm, and he found that his hand and wrist were covered with blood. The scout's bullet had torn its way through the flesh of his forearm.
He grew very faint, and had to clutch the saddle tightly with his knees to keep from falling. His weak arm had served to hold the reins, but it was good for little else. He was so dizzy that he could hardly see, and he only dimly realized that he was close to the streams of light coming from the windows of the village tavern. The sound of a galloping horse brought several men to the tavern door.
"Raiders from Canada are coming! They're close by!" he gasped, then his head swam round and he fell from the saddle. After that there was much shouting and hurrying to and fro, and finally the beating of a drum and the quick clang of the bell in the village church. But Noel, stretched out on a table in the tavern, was undisturbed by all the turmoil.
Even Congress heard of what had occurred that warm July night by the Canadian border, and when the war was ended, Noel Duval was remembered in such a substantial way that he was able to provide a good home for his mother and the old Widow Marston and for little Ninette, and to keep poverty from ever again pinching them.