CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH GODFREY PLEADS FOR THE CONDEMNED PRISONERS

Without waiting for an answer, Barnabas jerked the table away and swung the door partly open. The enemy were on the watch and immediately opened a hot fire. Two bullets struck Reuben Atwood, and he fell dead across the threshold. The others dodged back into the heat and smoke, and just at the critical moment the firing ceased in response to a loud command.

"It's the Tory colonel hisself," exclaimed Barnabas, as he peeped through a crevice. "He's just arrived, an' there's lots of Royal Greens along with him."

"Colonel Butler," he added loudly, "we'll surrender, providin' you spare our lives."

"Come out first, and then we'll talk," the officer shouted back after a brief pause.

There was hope in the words, and Barnabas and his companions lost no time in scrambling to their feet. Half-choked, and sweating from every pore, they stepped over Atwood's dead body and staggered across the clearing. At sight of the three figures there was a loud murmur of astonishment.

"Where's the rest?" demanded Simon Glass, as he roughly stripped the prisoners of their muskets.

"We're all here but one," Barnabas answered, pointing to the doorway, "an' he's dead."

"I'll send you to join him," snarled Glass, and with that he presented a gun to the old man's head. But before he could fire, Colonel Butler knocked the weapon aside.

"You ruffian!" he exclaimed. "Would you shoot a prisoner in cold blood?"

"He deserves it," remonstrated Glass, in an injured tone. "Why, this is the leader of the rebel band that attacked my party a couple of days ago, killed four of us, and stole our horses."

"I have nothing to do with that affair," snapped Colonel Butler. "When I want you to play executioner I'll tell you. Don't interfere again!"

With a scowl Glass slunk away, and for a few moments the officer scrutinized his three captives in silence. The upper part of the cabin was now wrapped in flames, and the red glare made the scene as light as day. Tories and Indians stood grouped in a half-circle, the former with cold, pitiless faces, while the latter looked ferociously at the prisoners under their painted cheeks as they gripped their blood-stained tomahawks and edged nearer with fiendish anticipation. Godfrey, who had been with the attacking party, was standing to the rear, and his face alone expressed pity. He blushed as Nathan discovered him and gave him a quick glance of contempt and defiance.

"You can't expect mercy," Colonel Butler finally said. "Within a few hours after the surrender you are found here with arms in your possession--a direct violation of my terms. And you took the offensive, firing deliberately on a part of my force."

"That's right, Colonel," chimed in Glass. "They shot first. We've six dead here."

"We were compelled to fire, sir," said Barnabas. "We had no way to retreat, an' that ruffian yonder told his men not to let one of us escape."

"Exactly," assented Glass. "But my object was to take you prisoners. I saw you and your men recover the arms you had hidden in the woods, and I was justified in following to discover your purpose."

At this Godfrey started to come forward, but changed his mind and stopped. His face was pale and haggard.

"Man, you lie," cried McNicol, turning to the one-eyed Tory. "You never saw us get the guns, and you didn't even know we were here till you reached the cabin. And had we surrendered at the first, every one of us would have been massacred in cold blood. I know you well, you dirty traitor."

"Colonel, don't believe that rebel," retorted Glass, with a glance of fury at McNicol. "The affair happened just as I said."

"Hang the affair!" testily exclaimed the officer. He moved aside for a moment to converse in a whisper with Captain Caldwell, of the Royal Greens, and then turned to the prisoners. "My duty is very simple," he said. "There is but one question at stake. You were found bearing arms in violation of my terms. You have brought your fate on yourselves, and now--"

"Sir, would our lives have been safe anywhere in this valley without fire-arms?" interrupted Barnabas.

Colonel Butler bit his lip with rage. "You rebel dog," he cried, "do you dare to assert that I can't enforce my own commands? But enough. Captain Caldwell, a platoon of your men, please. Stand the prisoners out and shoot them."

Nathan turned pale. Barnabas and McNicol heard the sentence without moving a muscle. A file of the Royal Greens stepped forward, bringing their musket butts to earth with a dull clatter. But just as several Tories laid hold of the victims to place them in position, an unexpected interference came from Godfrey Spencer.

"Colonel Butler," he exclaimed, "let me speak to you before this goes any further."

"Stop, you fool," muttered Glass, trying to push the lad back.

"Let me go," Godfrey whispered fiercely. "If you don't, I'll tell all."

"What do you want to say?" asked Colonel Butler. "Oh, it's you, Lieutenant Spencer!"

"Sir, I beg you to spare these men," pleaded Godfrey. "With justice to yourself, you can waive the question of their bearing arms, since their object in coming to the cabin to-night was in no wise contrary to the terms of the surrender. We came for the same purpose, and the meeting was accidental. Simon Glass has lied deliberately, and I can vouch for it that he would have shot the prisoners at once, had they given themselves up."

Glass ground his teeth with rage, and had looks been able to kill, the lad must have fallen dead.

"I can't understand this hurried march of your little detachment from the Jersies to Wyoming," replied Colonel Butler. "You told me you were sent by Major Langdon, and now I infer that this cabin was connected with your mission; also, that the prisoners marched from the Jersies with the same purpose in view. I would like a further explanation."

"That I can't give, sir," Godfrey answered firmly.

"Perhaps you can?" and the Colonel turned to Barnabas.

The old man shook his head. "It's a private matter, sir," he replied, "an' my lips are sealed. But what this young lieutenant says is all true."

Colonel Butler looked puzzled and vexed. "Whom did Major Langdon put in command of the party?" he sharply inquired of Godfrey.

"Simon Glass, sir."

"And why were you--an officer of rank--sent along as a subordinate?"

"I don't know, sir. I don't even know fully the object of the expedition."

"Glass, you can explain this mystery," exclaimed the Colonel, losing patience.

"Sir, would you have me betray my trust?" demanded Glass, with well-feigned indignation. "You saw my papers yesterday. You know that they are signed by Major Langdon, and that I am acting under his orders."

"And under mine as well, sir," replied the Colonel, with a frown. "There can be no independent commands while I have control here. Come, we'll drop the question of Major Langdon's authority. I want you to do some work for me to-morrow. You are just the man for it, and you can have the force you led out of the fort when my back was turned."

"I am at your service, sir," Glass replied in a mollified tone.

The Colonel nodded. "You may as well camp here for the balance of the night, and start early in the morning. Scour the whole upper part of the valley, and burn every cabin and house to its foundations."

A wicked smile showed how well pleased the ruffian was with his orders. "How about the prisoners, sir?" he asked carelessly.

"The sentence stands," Colonel Butler replied grimly. "I will give them a few hours to prepare for death. Hang or shoot them at daybreak."

"I can't entertain your appeal," he added, to Godfrey. "Your arguments do not mitigate the fact that these rebels were found in arms. I must do my duty."

In spite of Glass's angry and threatening looks Godfrey made a second attempt to save the prisoners, but Colonel Butler cut him short in a manner that forbade further appeal. The officer was in an ugly mood, for his natural curiosity to solve the mystery connected with the cabin had been baffled. But matters of more importance demanded his immediate presence at the fort, and without delay he marched off at the head of the Royal Greens.

Glass's first act after the departure of Colonel Butler was to search Nathan thoroughly from head to foot, and the lad submitted with an air of surprise that was more feigned than real; by this time he had an inkling of what it all meant.

The ruffian could hardly conceal his disappointment when he failed to find what he wanted. He proceeded to search McNicol and Barnabas--luckily omitting the latter's boots--and then he reviled the prisoners with the most bitter taunts and insults his brutal mind could invent.

Nathan lost his temper and answered back, thereby receiving a cruel blow in the face; but Barnabas and McNicol stoically endured the shower of abuse. None of the three showed any sign of fear, though they knew they were to die in the morning, and their courage might well have won admiration and pity from a more chivalrous foe. But Simon Glass's half-dozen Tory comrades--who numbered among them the survivors of the squadron of dragoons--were as brutal and degraded as himself. The rest of the force were Indians, and mercy or pity could have been better expected from a pack of panthers than from these blood-thirsty Senecas.

The ruffian finally wearied of his pastime and walked toward the cabin, which was now nearly consumed. After watching the dying blaze for a moment he returned.

"How soon will those ruins be cool?" he asked of one of his companions.

"I should judge in about two or three hours," the man replied.

Glass looked pleased. "We'd better be turning in," he continued, "for we must take an early start in the morning. We'll hang the rebels before we go. Bring them over yonder now."

He led the way to a thicket of low bushes that stood on the near bank of the spring. In the centre of the thicket were three saplings, and to these the prisoners were secured in a sitting position, with their arms fastened behind them and their backs turned to one another. Having seen that the work was done thoroughly, Glass departed.

"You'd better be praying, you rebels," he said, in a sneering tone, "for your necks will stretch at the first light of dawn."

The night was very warm and the Tories and Indians stretched themselves in groups amid the thick grass that carpeted the clearing. A sentry was posted on guard at the thicket, and as he paced to and fro with loaded musket the upper part of his body was visible to the captives. They could see no others of the party for the bushes, but the silence indicated that all were asleep. Godfrey had kept in the background after Colonel Butler's departure, either for the purpose of shunning Glass or to avoid those he had vainly tried to befriend.

There was no hope of escape, and for a while the wretched little group talked in whispers, each nobly endeavoring to cheer and comfort the others. None had rested much on the previous night, and finally Barnabas and McNicol fell asleep.

Nathan was now alone with his thoughts, and in the face of death his fortitude almost deserted him, and his mind yielded to bitter anguish. He lived the past over again--his boyhood days here in the valley, his years at college in Philadelphia, and then the string of terrible events that had begun with the loss of his father on Monmouth battle-field. But amid the conflicting thoughts that distressed him the memory of Godfrey's strange words was uppermost.

"What can it mean?" the lad asked himself. "Is it possible that Major Langdon sent Simon Glass here to find and steal these papers? He heard my father tell me where they were, but why would he want to get them? It is a deep mystery--one too incredible to be true!"

Vainly the lad puzzled himself, and at last he fell into a restless sleep. A couple of hours later he awoke with a start, realizing at once where he was, and dreading to find that dawn had come. The moon was far down and under a bank of clouds, and the cabin had long ago burnt itself out to the last spark. But, from the direction of the ruins, floated a dull noise and the sound of low voices.

"Barnabas, are you awake?" Nathan whispered.

"Yes, lad," muttered the old man, and as he spoke McNicol opened his eyes and twisted his cramped body.

Before more could be said the bushes rustled, and a dusky figure shouldering a musket crept softly into the thicket. Godfrey--for it was, indeed, he--put a finger to his lips. "Hush!" he whispered. "I've come to save you. All are sleeping, except Glass and four of the Indians. They're poking about in the ashes of the cabin, and we must get away before they return. I am going with you, for my life is equally in danger."

He stooped down with a knife in one hand, and quickly severed the cords that held the prisoners. "Now come," he added. "Look where you step, and don't even breathe loudly."

Nathan and his friends rose, trembling with joy, and almost doubting the reality of their good fortune. But they knew by what extreme caution safety must be won, and as noiselessly as shadows they trailed their sore and stiffened bodies behind Godfrey to the farther edge of the thicket.

The young officer had thought out his plans beforehand, and with a warning gesture he stepped into the spring at the point where it became a narrow rivulet, and brawled its course swiftly across the lower corner of the clearing. The others followed, and the murmur of the waters drowned what slight noise was unavoidable.

Now came the critical moment. With anxious hearts the fugitives waded slowly down the stream, crouching low beneath the fringe of tall grass that concealed, on both sides, the sleeping forms of Tories and Indians. On and on they went amid unbroken silence, and at last the dense foliage of the wood closed over them like an arch. They had safely passed the limits of the camp. They waded twenty yards further, and then stepped on land.

Godfrey handed his musket to Barnabas. "You know the country," he whispered. "Lead as you think best."

"We'll make a wide detour back of the fort," Barnabas replied, "an' then come around to the river at the lower end of the valley."

On a brisk trot they started toward the northwest, and as they hurried along the forest trails that the old woodsman chose, Godfrey briefly told what all were anxious to know.

"I got awake a bit ago," he said, "and heard Glass instructing four of the worst Indians to tomahawk you people just before daylight. They were to kill me at the same time, and pretend it was done by mistake. That was to be Glass's revenge for what I said to-night. I remained perfectly still, pretending to be asleep, and when Glass and the Indians went over to the cabin, I decided all at once what to do. I told the sentry I had been ordered to relieve him, and he handed over his musket without a word. He was asleep in two minutes, and my way was clear."

Barnabas and McNicol warmly thanked the lad, and Nathan impulsively clasped his hand.

"I hope we are friends again, Godfrey," he said. "I will never forget what you did to-night."

"I will do more, if I ever get the chance," Godfrey answered. "But I can't explain now--wait until we are certain of freedom."

By this time the fugitives were a mile from the enemy's camp, and before they had gone twenty yards further a faint outcry behind them told them that their escape was discovered. All now depended on speed, for it was certain that the Indians, by the aid of torches, would follow the trail with the unerring keenness of blood-hounds.

Barnabas led the little party at a steady pace, taking them several miles to the rear of the fort before he turned parallel with the river. Now they headed for the lower end of the valley, and for nearly three hours, while they traversed the lonely and gloomy forest, they heard no sound but the chirp of night-birds and the distant cries of prowling wild animals.

"I can't keep this up much longer," panted Nathan. "The Indians may be close behind, but for my part I believe they've lost the trail."

"Mebbe so, lad," replied Barnabas, "though the quietness ain't an indication of it. We're all badly winded, but the river ain't far off now. Onct we git across, or find a boat--"

The rest of the sentence was drowned by one blood-curdling whoop that rang with awful shrillness through the silent wood. Another and another followed, and the glimmer of a torch was seen coming over a knoll at a furlong's space behind the fugitives.

"The Senecas are hot on the trail!" cried Barnabas, "an' their keen ears have heard us. On for the river! It's our last chance!"