Andy gave one look at Ruth.  A look of bravery, appreciation, and mute thanks for her part of the work.

“It’s all right, Ruth,” he called back.  “Tell mother I’ll lead them straight enough and be home in an hour.  Good-by.”

By a winding way leading from the main road they went; through Apthorpe’s place they cantered at their ease, and so came to the highway a mile beyond.

“There may be a shorter cut, my lord,” suggested Norton; then he paused.  “Does your lordship observe there are no marks on the road that bespeak the recent passing of a regiment?  This should mean the young rebel’s death!”

“He’s a spy in the old fox’s hire!” shouted another.

“String him up, along with the schoolmaster down at the Beekman place to-morrow morning!” roared a third.  All was wild commotion in a moment.  But in that moment Andy took his chances and made for the thicket, and the hidden path over which he and Washington went that day that now seemed so long ago.  A man leaned from a horse and tried to clutch him, lost his balance and tumbled to the ground.  Confusion covered Andy’s dash.

“He’s gone!” yelled the man who had fallen.

“Which way?” shouted several in response.

Which way?  Aye, that was the query.  Which way!

Andy made for the dry bed of the stream.  No rustling leaves must betray him.  Not in flight was his safety now, but in silent hiding until darkness should come.  Down into the muddy pool of the once rushing brook, rolled the boy.  In the distance he heard: 

“No trail here, my lord!” and he smiled grimly.

“Well, a lost lame rebel is of less account than the regiments ahead,” shouted the Captain.  “Bad luck to the young devil.  Cut cross country and try the river road!”

“They have an hour to the good!” thought Andy, as he remembered the weary patriots and young Aaron Burr.  Soon all was quiet, and with the palpitating silence a new thought grew in Andy’s brain.  “Better string him up to-morrow with the schoolmaster!” Whom did they mean!

“Schoolmaster!  Spy!” The two words struck dully on the aching brain.  Suppose!  Andy sat up and gazed wildly into the dense underbrush.  “Could it be?” But no; the idea was too horrible.

The long shadows began to creep among the rocks they loved so well.  Still Andy sat staring into the awful possibility that the words conjured up.

“Schoolmaster!  Spy!” He could stand it no longer.  Cautiously he crept up the bank.  Through all the excitement he had clung to his crutch.  It must serve him well now.  He set out determinedly toward the highway.  Come what might, he must reach the Beekman place as soon as possible, and he hoped that the road was safe, owing to interest being centered elsewhere.  In this hope he was right.  Below and above him, excitement ran rife, but the highway seemed to belong to him alone.

CHAPTER VI