From a discussion of the state of the country, Nathaniel turned to talk of other matters, spoke of what was going on about them, and thus passed a pleasant half-hour. Finally, he rose from his seat, remarking:
“To tell the truth, I must leave now, although I should love well enough to stay here a little while longer. If I was certain that John would be home soon, I should wait for him: but, as it is, I think I shall ride over to Squire Stoddart’s—where I take it he is—and have a few words with him. It is important that I speak about the organization now, as we will hold a meeting to-morrow night.”
Catherine accompanied the young man to the door, and remained talking with him for some time. When she returned, the color had risen in her face, but she quietly took her seat, while the clattering along the road told that Nat was making all possible speed in the direction of the squire’s.
CHAPTER II.
THE TORY SPY.
No man is so base as he who deliberately takes up arms against his own country. Such a one is fit for any deed, however mean, cowardly, or wicked. Unfortunately, traitors have been found in every country, in all times; nor were they wanting during the American Revolution. While there were a number of honorable men who, believing that the colonies were wrong in revolting from the king, did not take up arms against them, on the other hand there were numbers of base, sordid wretches, who were willing to cling to any side so that it was the strongest—to support any cause so that it was one which promised them booty. Such a one was Timothy Turner, who followed the fortunes of the British, who was devoted to their interests, who had, in short, sold to them his very soul and body for paltry gold.
Although the character of this young man was not fully known, yet suspicion rested upon him, and the Whigs had formed unfavorable conclusions which were not long wanting a justification. He lived in a small cabin, about half or three-quarters of a mile from Mr. Stoddart’s; and, though ostensibly he supported himself by tilling a small patch of ground, yet the dullest mind must have perceived that a support from such a spot was simply an impossibility.
On this night, Timothy Turner was wending his way home from a tavern which stood on the road about three-quarters of a mile from his house. As he turned from the door, he thought he heard the sounds of a rapidly approaching horseman. Pausing for a moment, to see whether his ears did not deceive him, he discovered the dusky figure of the rider. As he passed the tavern, and by the light which streamed from the door, Turner caught sight of the man. It was Nathaniel Ernshaw.
“Ha! curse him, what is he doing, riding about at this time of night? It’s no good Wild Nat is after; blast him, if I could but lay my hands on his carcass, I would show him a touch of my nature. If ever I get the chance, he shall pay dear for what he has done.”
The ruffian kept on his journey down the road, straining his eyes to follow the fast-flitting figure before him. When Ernshaw came to the lane which led in to Mr. Stoddart’s dwelling, he reined in his horse, and, dismounting, threw open the gate. Turner, who had followed as closely as possible, on seeing the direction of Nat’s errand, stealthily drew near to the spot.
Nathaniel drew up to the house, and knocked on the door. The knocking brought a middle-aged man to the door. Holding a candle above his head, he took a careful survey of the visitor.