For to this sorry pass the Westchester folk had come, that they trusted no stranger, nor were like to for many a weary day to come.  Nor could I blame this gentleman with a heavy price on his head, and, as I heard later, already the object of numerous and violent attempts in which, at times, entire regiments had been employed to take him.

But after he had carefully read the letter which Boyd bore from our General of Brigade, he asked us to be seated, and shut the table drawer, and came over to the silk-covered sofa on which we had seated ourselves.

“Do you know the contents of this letter?” he asked Boyd bluntly.

“Yes, Major Lockwood.”

“And does Mr. Loskiel know, also?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

The Major sat musing, turning over and over the letter between thumb and forefinger.

He was a man, I should say, of forty or a trifle more, with brown eyes which sometimes twinkled as though secretly amused, even when his face was gravest and most composed; a gentleman of middle height, of good figure and straight, and of manners so simple that the charm of them struck one afterward as a pleasant memory.

“Gentlemen,” he said, looking up at us from his momentary abstraction, “for the first part of General Clinton’s letter I must be brief with you and very frank.  There are no recruits to be had in this vicinity for Colonel Morgan’s Rifles.  Riflemen are of the elite; and our best characters and best shots are all enlisted—­ or dead or in prison——­” He made a significant gesture toward the south.  And we thought of the Prison Ships and the Provost, and sat silent.

“There is,” he added, “but one way, and that is to pick riflemen from our regiments here; and I am not sure that the law permits it in the infantry.  It would be our loss, if we lose our best shots to your distinguished corps; but of course that is not to be considered if the interests of the land demand it.  However, if I am not mistaken, a recruiting party is to follow you.”

“Yes, Major.”

“Then, sir, you may report accordingly.  And now for the other matters.  General Clinton, in this letter, recommends that we speak very freely together.  So I will be quite frank, gentlemen.  The man you seek, Luther Kinnicut, is a spy whom our Committee of Safety maintains within the lines of the lower party.  If it be necessary I can communicate with him, but it may take a week.  Might I ask why you desire to question him so particularly?”

Boyd said:  “There is a Siwanois Indian, one Mayaro, a Sagamore, with whom we have need to speak.  General Clinton believes that this man Kinnicut knows his whereabouts.”

“I believe so, too,” said the Major smiling.  “But I ask your pardon, gentlemen; the Sagamore, Mayaro, although a Siwanois, was adopted by the Mohicans, and should be rated one.”

“Do you know him, sir?”

“Very well indeed.  May I inquire what it is you desire of Mayaro?”