CHAPTER XII.

THE REAL IRA.

“Excuse me, lieutenant,” he said looking at the leader of the little party. “I think I left my knife here, and as it is a valuable one, I came back for it.”

There was no question but that he had heard Ira’s remark, and it was equally evident he knew who the young scout really was. He must also have understood how dangerous was his position, yet he spoke as calmly as if he had suddenly happened upon a party of friends, rather than enemies.

While Late and Joe stood motionless in bewilderment, Ira showed himself fully a match, both in coolness and politeness, for the spy.

“We have seen nothing of the weapon, Master Turnbull,” he replied, “but perhaps it is here. Come in, and we’ll help you find it.”

“Thank you, lieutenant,” the fellow replied as he entered and advanced to the corner where he had been sleeping. “It should be here,” he continued, stooping down to look for it. “Yes, I have it,” he cried a moment later, and came forward holding a beautiful dagger in his hand. Passing it to Ira, he asked in a tone of pride:

“Did you ever see anything finer than that?”

The scout gazed at it admiringly. The scabbard was of fine leather, curiously embroidered with threads of gold. The hilt was silver, and on it the letters “A. T.” were engraved within a wreath of myrtle leaves and flowers; the blade was of finest steel.

“A gift from my lady-love,” the owner explained with a laugh. “Do you wonder I valued the toy enough to come back after it? I carry it in a pocket in my waistcoat, as an extra weapon for a special time of need. Somehow it slipped from its hiding-place last night, and I did not discover it until I was a half-mile down the trail. Return it to me, please, and I will rejoin my companions.”

“The weapon you may have,” Ira replied, passing it back to Turnbull; “but I must insist that you stay to breakfast with us.”

With a shrug of his shoulders the spy replied:

“I suppose I must, if you insist upon it, lieutenant,” and he quietly seated himself upon a short log which served as stool and awaited the pleasure of his hosts.

“Late, take your rifle and keep watch against the return of the Indian or Tories, while the rest of us eat,” the young scout commanded.

“You need not trouble yourself to do that,” Master Turnbull explained. “I told my friends to go on, and I would overtake them. It will be an hour or two before they think it worth while to turn back for the purpose of hunting for me.”

“I do not doubt your word, sir,” was the reply; “but we will run no risk of either surprise or capture.”

“Exercising your usual caution, lieutenant——but I will not speak the other name, for it may be you do not care to have even your comrades know it. Had I been as careful, however, I would not now be in your power.”

“Why in the world didn’t you run away as soon as you caught sight of us?” Joe asked bluntly.

“Because I preferred to be captured rather than lose my knife,” the spy explained with a smile. “That may seem queer now; but you will understand it later on in life.”

“When I get a sweetheart, I s’pose you mean,” the lad replied, with a grin. “Well, it’s lucky for us you’ve got one,” and he turned his attention to the food.

When he had finished the meal he changed places with Latham, while Ira sat with his eyes fixed upon the prisoner.

“The more I think the matter over,” Master Turnbull said after a brief silence, “the surer I am, lieutenant, that you have adopted my trade.”

“I have sowed no seed of discord against General Burgoyne,” Ira replied in a meaning tone.

“No, but you would have done it had such a step been possible, or necessary to your purpose. You know the old saying that ‘Everything is fair in love and war?’” was the smiling reply.

“Yes, I presume so,” Ira said slowly; “but it comes a trifle harder to admit it in this case, than in some others.”

“I understand,” the man replied with a show of sympathy; “but you have this to console you, that every charge made against the general was false.”

“That is something I readily acknowledge,” the lad said with a laugh; “but you are a dangerous fellow to be at liberty, Master Turnbull, and I shall be doing the Cause great service if I see that you are put where it is no longer possible to do any harm.”

“I might have known you would take that view of it,” the spy said gloomily, “and yet I have a proposition to make.”

“What is it?”

“I said you had taken up my trade,” he began, “for I venture to guess you have been up country as Ira Le Geyt. You steered clear of Colonel St. Leger’s headquarters, knowing there were those near-by who would recognize you.”

Ira’s reply was a smile.

“I venture more,” the speaker continued. “It is that you have been the Ira Le Geyt who for weeks has been a close adviser of General Burgoyne. How you have brought it about, lieutenant, I don’t know. Where the real Ira is I cannot say. But, if the disasters that have befallen my general are due to you, the injury you have done the king is greater than any I have worked against the colonies.”

“Thank you,” the scout replied. “That is no mean compliment, coming from one who has been so uniformly successful in his work as yourself.”

“I see we understand each other,” the spy added. “Your work has offset mine. Why not continue to let it do so?”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me go now, and I give my word of honor that I will in no way betray you, either to the men I have just left, or to the general. In other words, you may go on in your work unmolested by me, if you allow me to continue mine.”

“You can afford to make such an offer,” Ira said with a smile. “I have you where I can put an end to all your work. More than that even, for once I deliver you into the hands of our commander, your life is not worth a farthing. What gain have I personally in releasing you? I can continue the work I am doing more successfully with you in our hands, than at liberty.”

“Do not be so sure of that,” the spy returned quickly.

“I will run the risk anyway,” the scout answered decisively. “You must go with us,” and ten minutes later the three lads and their prisoner were moving rapidly down the trail.

Not until they were twenty-five miles below the old hut, did the little party go into camp. A rude shack was the only shelter, and in this the prisoner and two of the scouts were soon sleeping. It fell to Late’s lot to stand the first watch. His time of guard duty had nearly expired when he heard the spy moving restlessly. Going quickly to his side, the lad found Turnbull sitting upright.

“What is the trouble?” he demanded.

“I want to have a talk with you,” the man said in a low tone. “Can’t I come outside? I don’t want to awaken your comrades.”

Wondering what the fellow had in mind; but believing himself capable of caring for him, Late said:

“All right! Come on! But understand that if you attempt to run away I’ll let daylight through you.”

Master Turnbull made no reply to the threat; but, rising, followed Late into the open air. It was starlight, not very dark, and quite warm. Sitting on a rock, a rod or two from the shack, the prisoner began to fan himself with his hat.

“My!” he cried. “I’m glad to get into the fresh air. It was so hot in there, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nevertheless, you’ll go back faster than you came out, if you don’t hurry up an’ tell me what’s on your mind,” Late growled, beginning to grow suspicious of the fellow.

“I want to get away,” he said, coming immediately to the subject in hand.

“Of course you do,” the lad retorted. “I should if I was in your place,” and he changed the position of his gun as token that he was not to be trifled with.

The captive noted the movement, but was not disconcerted by it. “I can make it an object for you to go to sleep, and let me steal away,” he continued.

“Will you give me that dagger?” Late asked, although, as he afterward explained to his companions, “I was mad enough inside to bite the rascal’s head off. To think the fool thought he could bribe me.”

“No, I couldn’t do that,” the prisoner replied; “but I’ll give you this,” and he drew a purse from his pocket, shaking it so that Late could hear the clink of the gold.

“How much is that?” the lad asked, with well-feigned eagerness.

“See, they are all sovereigns,” Master Turnbull said, opening the purse and dropping the coins into his hat one by one. “Ten,” he added. “More money than you are ever likely to have again, and it’s all yours if you’ll only be careless enough to let me get away.”

“Careless ’nough to let you get away,” the young scout repeated in a voice loud enough to awaken his comrades. “I’ll show you I’m not to be bought, you old fool, at any price,” and he advanced angrily toward the spy with gun upraised, as if to strike him down.

But before he could do so Turnbull leaped to his feet and made a dash for the nearest tree, evidently hoping to get that between himself and his guard, and so effect his escape. But he was not quick enough. Bringing his rifle to his shoulder, Late fired, and the fugitive fell headlong to the ground. In another moment all three lads were bending over what appeared to be a lifeless body.

“Get a torch,” Ira cried, thrusting his hand beneath the unconscious man’s shirt.

When Joe came with a light, he added:

“He is not dead. His heart still beats. Help me, Late, and we’ll take him to the shack.”

Gently they carried him to the shelter, and made careful search for the wound.

“There it is on the back of his head,” Joe cried, holding the torch so that his companions might see.

“The bullet has not shattered the bones,” Ira said a moment later. “It was a glancing shot. He is only stunned. Bring some water, Late.”

They bathed the prisoner’s temples; forced liquid between his lips; washed and bandaged the wound. When this had been done the man opened his eyes, and, looking up into their faces, smiled faintly.

“I didn’t make it,” he said feebly.

“Hardly,” Late replied. “I’m sorry I had to do it; but you shouldn’t have tried to run away.”

“I’m not blaming you,” he answered. “You’re of the right stuff even if you are a rebel. But I ought to have known as much. Your leader don’t select any other kind of men to help him.”

After a short time he sank into a troubled sleep, and, leaving Joe to watch him, Ira and Late also laid down. A few hours later the former changed places with the watcher, and thus the night passed. At dawn the wounded man showed signs of fever, and was unable to walk.

“What shall we do?” Late asked.

“Make a litter and carry him,” Ira replied. “He must be taken where he’ll have better care than we can give him here.”

Late and Joe hurried off to get material for a stretcher; but a moment later the latter came hurriedly back.

“We have found a canoe that was hidden in a thicket on the river bank,” he cried. “Late is putting it into the water, and will then come to help you carry Master Turnbull. I would take hold, but don’t believe my right arm is strong enough yet.”

“It isn’t,” his comrade said with decision; “but you can carry our guns and other traps.”

Late returned speedily, and slowly he and Ira carried the prisoner to the stream. Fortunately the boat was large enough to carry them all, and embarking, they sailed rapidly down the current, escaping only by a few minutes five horsemen who rode along the river bank in search of them.

One of the riders leaped from his animal and examined the ground near the river carefully.

“What do you make out, captain?” one of his companions asked.

“The fellows found a canoe in those bushes, and, putting the wounded man in it, have gone down the stream,” he replied.

“How long ago?”

“They are not a mile away.”

“Then we can head them off,” his comrade cried. “The river makes a bend a few miles below. By riding straight across the neck we should be able to cut them off.”

“Easily,” was the reply, and when the captain had remounted his horse, all hastened back to the trail. Gaining it, they put spurs to their steeds and galloped off in pursuit of their prey. Three hours later they were near the river again.

“We must be ahead of the rebels,” the former spokesman said.

“I am sure of it, Hiram,” the eldest of the party replied.

“There they come,” Captain Brant cried five minutes later, pointing to the bow of a canoe which was just coming into view. “We’ll hitch our horses and be ready for them.”

Dismounting, they secured the animals behind a clump of trees, and then crept cautiously along to the edge of the river, concealing themselves behind some rocks.

Ignorant of the ambuscade, the occupants of the light craft paddled rapidly on. They had made good progress, and in another hour would arrive at a settlement where they could secure the aid the wounded man needed. For some reason, however, which they could not themselves explain, they hugged the south bank, and the river at that point was quite wide.

Suddenly one of the hidden horses broke its halter and ran wildly through the woods, startling the other animals until they neighed loudly.

“There must be a squad of horsemen over there,” Ira cried. “Quick! pull under cover of the right bank until we can look about us!”

Late obeyed hurriedly, and the canoe was turned toward the shore.

Crack! Crack! Crack! came the reports of three rifles, and the bullets struck the water behind, ahead, and below the craft.

Then she glided under the cover of the overhanging trees, but as she disappeared two more shots were fired from the ambush, a ball struck the prisoner, who had raised himself to learn the cause of the firing, in the breast, killing him instantly.

“He is dead!” Joe exclaimed, catching the spy in his arms as he sank slowly back into the bow of the boat.

These words were heard on the opposite shore, and immediately old David Daggett leaped upon the rock behind which he had been concealed. Swinging his hat above his head, he shouted:

“Hurrah! We’ve killed one of them! We’ve killed one of them!”

Late seized his rifle and fired at the old man, muttering as he did so: “I’ll fix you, you old Tory!”

His bullet, however, struck, not the old, but the younger Tory, Hiram Le Geyt, who at that moment had sprung up to pull his father-in-law down behind the barricade.

The occupants of the canoe could not tell whether he was killed, or only wounded. But they heard Captain Brant’s voice directing two negroes to carry their master into the woods where he would be out of range of the flying bullets. Then Ira, without exposing himself, called to the Indian:

“Captain Brant, one of your shots struck our prisoner, who was only slightly wounded, in the breast, killing him instantly. We will leave his body, and everything that belongs to him, in the canoe. You may take possession of the craft at any time. We will not disturb you.”

Then he and his comrades, after securing the boat to the nearest tree, leaped ashore and entered the forest. Before they were out of hearing, however, the reply of the Mohawk chief could be heard:

“Thanks, lads! I’ll care for him as soon as I can leave my friend here, who is, I fear mortally wounded.”

“That hardly sounds like the bloodiest chieftain in the valley,[7] does it?” Ira said, as he and his companions hastened along. “Even he seems to appreciate a thoughtful act.”

When opposite the next settlement, they called to a lad who was fishing in the river, and he, coming across in a boat, ferried them over. There they passed the night, and on the following morning hastened on down the valley.

As they advanced Joe referred to the change in the commanders of the Continental forces, asking:

“Will you report to this General Gates, Ira, the same as you did to General Schuyler?”

“Certainly,” he answered. “He is now in General Schuyler’s place, and should be treated precisely as was our former leader.”

“But Late and I don’t know him,” he objected.

“Neither do I,” was the reply. “But it will be easy to fix all that. You will find General Schuyler, even though he has been relieved of command, in the camp, doing all he can for the Cause which is dearer to him than life.”

“It isn’t many men who would do that,” Late interrupted. “Do you remember how it was with Colonel Stark? When he thought he had been misused, he surrendered his commission and went back to his farm in New Hampshire.”

“But he responded to the call from Bennington,” Ira replied, “and, recognizing his mistake, will now go back to the regular army.”

“But our general don’t make such mistakes,” cried Joe in tones of admiration. “He’s large enough to overlook any personal slight, for the good of the Cause. Some day the people of the colonies will know the truth, and count him one of their heroes.”

“Thank you!” Ira said with glistening eyes. “May we all live to see your prophecy come true!”

At sunset they were in the vicinity of Bemis Heights, and had no difficulty in locating the British camp.

“Well, lads, we’ll part here,” Ira said. “You will find Dan with our army, and after you have reported to the general, he will show you the place I have chosen as our rendezvous on this side the Hudson.”

“But is it safe now for you to enter the British lines?” Late asked anxiously. “What if David Daggett should show up there within a few hours?”

“He’ll hardly arrive as soon as that,” was the quiet reply, “though doubtless he will appear later. Meantime I have the opportunity to report to General Burgoyne, and learn the present condition of his forces. It will probably be the last work I shall do as Ira Le Geyt,” and he left them.

Before they gained the entrenchments of the Continentals, the two boys met Dan Cushing.

“Where is Ira?” was his first question.

“Gone into the British encampment,” they explained.

“He ought not have gone there!” Dan cried.

“Why not?”

“’Cause General Gates has let the real Ira go; an’ also set free that courier, George Preston,” was the startling announcement. “General Schuyler, soon as he heard of it, sent me to meet you an’ stop Ira. Those fellers will make straight for Burgoyne’s headquarters, an’ get thar ’fore our Ira does. It means they’ll hang him soon as he shows up.”

For some moments his hearers stood as though stupefied, and then Late gasped:

“What can be done?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m goin’ to do,” Dan said stoutly. “I shall follow Ira into the British lines, if necessary, to save him, or hang with him,” and he walked away toward the enemy’s encampment.

There was need for him, or some other friend, to take such an heroic step, for before he had gained the nearest British picket post, the young scout was in General Burgoyne’s tent, face to face with the real Ira Le Geyt.