XXIX
on continental service

Once across the garden, the aide rode boldly, trusting to the snow overhead to hide his doings and the snow underfoot to keep them silent.  Turning northward, he kept Joggles galloping for five minutes, then confident that his pursuers had been distanced, or misled, he varied the pace, letting the horse walk where the snow was drifted, but forcing him to his best speed where the road was blown clear.

“We know the route up to Middlebrook, Joggles; but after that we get into the hills, and blindman’s work ’t will be for the two of us.  So ’t is now we must make our time, if we are to be in Morristown by morning.”

The rider spoke truly, for it was already six o’clock when he reached the cross-roads at Baskinridge.  Halting his horse at the guide-post, he drew his sword and struck the crosspiece a blow, to clear it of its burden of snow.

“Morristown, eight miles,” he read in the dark grayness of approaching day.  “Hast go enough in thee left to do it, old fellow?  Damn Lee for his tardiness and folly, which forces man and beast to journey in such cold.”  Pulling a flask from his pocket, he uncorked it.  “There’s scarce a drop left, but thou shouldst have half, if it would serve thee,” he said, as he put it to his lips and drained it dry. “’T is the last I have, and eight miles of Lee way still to do!” He laughed at his own pun, and pricked up the horse.  Just as the weary animal broke into a trot, the rider pulled rein once more and looked up at a signboard which had attracted his notice by giving a discordant creak as the now dying storm swung it.

“A tavern!  Here ’s luck, for at least we can get some more rum.”  Spurring the horse up to the door, he pulled a pistol from its holster and pounded the panel noisily.

It required more than one repetition of the blows to rouse an indweller, but finally a window was enough raised to permit the thrusting out of a becapped head.

“Who’s below, and what do yez want?” it challenged gruffly.

“Never mind who I am.  I want a pint of the best spirits you have, and a chance to warm myself for a ten minutes, if you’ve a spark of fire within.”

“Oi’ve nothin’ for anny wan who comes routin’ me out av bed at such an hour, an’ may the devil fly off wid yez for that same,” growled the man.  “Go away wid yez, an’ niver let me see yez more.”

The head was already drawn in, when Brereton, with quick readiness, called lustily:  “Do as I order, or I’ll have my troopers break in the door, and then look to yourself.”

“Just wan minute, colonel,” cried the man, in a very different tone; and in less than the time asked for the bolts were slipped back and the door was opened by a figure wrapped in a quilt, which one hand drew about him, while the other held a tallow dip aloft.

In the brief moment it took to do this, the officer not so much dismounted as tumbled from his horse, and he now walked stiffly into the public room, stamping his feet to lessen their numbness.