“Ours, of course—the American outposts? Are you one of this Tory tribe with which the country is overrun?”
At this Hadley, scarce convinced, flung much of his caution to the winds and replied: “I am as anxious to reach the American outposts as I can be. I have got to go to headquarters—”
“Whose headquarters?”
“The Commander-in-Chief’s.”
“I believe the lad’s got dispatches, Corporal!” declared Bumbler. “Let’s pull him off that horse and see.” So saying, he grasped Hadley by the collar and dragged him bodily from the saddle.
“Easy with the boy, man!” returned the other. “See if he’s got any papers about him. This is a queer set-up altogether, for a lad to be riding like mad toward headquarters—and over this road.”
Breathless and disposed to believe the worst of his captors, Hadley fought with all his strength to retain the packet; but Bumbler tore open his coat, and his big hand sought the boy’s inner pocket, where the precious papers lay.
CHAPTER V
THE MAGIC OF A NAME
FLAT upon his back on the hard roadway, with the knee of Bumbler pressing upon his chest, Hadley Morris was little able to defend the dispatches which he had received from the injured courier in the yard of the Three Oaks Inn. The man tore his coat apart, felt first in one inner pocket and then in the other, and finally, with a grunt of satisfaction, brought the sealed packet to light.
“Dispatches, Corporal, as sure as aigs is aigs!” he exclaimed, passing the packet up to the officer.