"Ay, ay, sir," assented Barnabas.
"And you, lad?"
"Yes, I understand," said Nathan. "I'm to mount guard at the edge of the orchard."
"Exactly; and keep an eye on the house. I'm telling you this because of the rumors about spies being in camp. The family are living in Philadelphia, and Abner Wilkinson is said to be there too. But I've my doubts about that, and you and Barnabas may learn something to-night if you're wide-awake."
The six pickets had stepped to the front as their names were called, and Corporal Dubbs now addressed them collectively in a few brief words. "These precautions are no more than my duty warrants," he said. "A soldier never knows what's going to happen. As for the posts I've assigned you to—why, I don't believe General Washington himself could improve on 'em. If the enemy come they won't find us napping, and there'll be plenty of time to save the grain. In case all goes well you can leave your places in about half an hour from the time you get there. Should one of you discover the British he will fire his musket, and then you must all fall back. The report will reach us over here, and will give us a chance to get the grain into the lines. Now off with you, and be spry about it."
The corporal gave the word to march, and his fourteen men and four horses followed him down the lane toward the farm-house. The six pickets, trudging off by twos, quickly vanished in the darkness and the storm. Side by side Nathan and Barnabas struck over the open field, and a tramp of a quarter of a mile brought them to the crest of a slight ridge, from whence they saw the Tory farmer's house and barn looming mistily out of the snow at a distance of four hundred yards. The wind now had a clean sweep at them, and the snow cut their faces like sleet as they pushed on down the slope. They felt their limbs growing numb, and half of the time they had to close their eyes. At length, panting and exhausted, they reached the welcome shelter of the orchard, and were out of the worst of the storm. For several minutes they crouched in a snow-drift on the farther side of the fence to recover breath and to reconnoiter. But there was no sign of danger—so far as they could see or hear. The house, looming close by, had a dreary and desolate look with its shuttered windows below and its black squares of glass above.
"I reckon there's nobody in yonder," said Barnabas, his teeth chattering as he spoke. "I sort of agreed with the corporal that Abner Wilkinson might be lurking about, but I daresay he's keeping snug in Philadelphia."
"Yes, that's more likely," assented Nathan. "And I don't believe that troop of cavalry is anywhere near."
"Perhaps not," replied Barnabas, "but if they are, it'll fall to my lot to spy 'em. I must be going now, lad. Just you stay right here, and be sure to keep moving a bit, else you'll get numbed and drop over asleep in the snow. If you hear the crack of my weapon don't wait—cut and run for Troup's place."
"And if I fire you'll hurry this way?" asked Nathan.