help.'
'What's the Dependence?'
'A fire-breathing dragon. To the rebels at least.'
The group laughed even more heartily than before. No one offered further information, and Jake thought it best not to press. The Dependence must be a British vessel that supported the Tories on their raids.
The talk proceeded in like manner until after 4 a.m., with Jake pretending to doubt the rangers' abilities so he could gather information from their boasts. The men gradually warmed to him, and his manner likewise eased. To hear them tell it, they were a constant threat to the Americans, a half-victory away from routing Putnam's troops from the hills. While their claims were no doubt exaggerated, Jake had good reason to believe they had some level of competence, based on what he had seen of Busch and Evans. They were at least well armed: an assortment of weapons and cartridge boxes were piled along two tables at the center of the barn, well polished and waiting.
As time passed, the men began to grow somewhat anxious about their leader. Their speculation was studded with bits of information about Busch and his background, adding to the portrait Jake already had received. Here was a man, though not as well born or widely known, to rival the infamous Colonel Robinson.
Patriotic readers familiar with Dutchess and Westchester counties in New York will remember Robinson as having been born in the shadow of Sugarloaf Mountain in Philipstown. Denying his free birthright, he raised his own regiment for the British; the once-respected Tory loomed large in the imaginations of men on both sides of the war, and his defection to the lower party did more damage to the American forces than his troops.
Busch, too, had grown up in the area and was well known among the inhabitants of the riverside farms. His father owned considerable acreage, but it was unclear from the gossip exactly how much or where. The captain was single, and in his early twenties as Jake already had surmised; a youthful tragedy had claimed his sister's life and his mother had died soon afterwards. Many of the local inhabitants did not yet realize where his loyalties lay, and he had not bothered to enlighten them, knowing that ambiguity would aid his activities.
A major assault was planned within the next day or so, but whether or not it involved the chain Jake could not tell and dared not directly ask. The Tories made his job of spying simple with loose tongues and eager curiosity, but Busch apparently was very guarded with information about their pending mission; not even Sergeant Lewis, who was presently in charge, could answer the men's questions about it.
When Busch finally entered the barn, it was nearly dawn. He had lost his hat; his face was worn with fatigue and the corners of his eyes showed the first marks of age, worry tearing at his brow. But there are certain men upon whom Care bestows nobility, and Busch was one of them; he walked into the barn with such a forceful bearing that even Jake found himself jumping to attention.
'Johnson missed the rendezvous,' he announced curtly. 'Something has happened to him and the escort sent to meet him. Caleb and I were attacked by a second rebel force, this time militia.'
Busch scanned the barn until his eyes rested on Jake. He gave him a quizzical look, and for a moment Jake worried that the Tory commander had somehow discerned he was responsible for Johnson's death.
'I am afraid Caleb has been captured,' Busch said finally. He gave Jake a nod, and the patriot realized Busch was remonstrating silently with himself for not taking his brave new recruit along on the second leg of his night's mission. 'The rebels were hot on our heels and I only just escaped.'
There was a general outpouring of sympathy for the corporal; he appeared much better liked than the sergeant. A few men asked if they would rescue him.
Busch silenced the talk with an outstretched hand. 'If he is captured, they will take him to the old church. Perhaps Johnson has been taken there as well. We will proceed as originally planned and hope the Dependence holds to its schedule. When we have completed our attack, we will come back and rescue them. Tomorrow, not today.'
'We can't leave him there, sir,' said one of the rangers.
'We won't. I guarantee that he will be rescued, but only after our raid. They are not in immediate danger. As for the troop Johnson was supposed to meet, they will have to see to their own safety.'
'If the rebels take Caleb to Fishkill, sir, it will be difficult to free him,' said Lewis.
'We will hear of it, I daresay, from our sources, well in advance. In the meantime, we have more important problems to concentrate on. Johnson's loss means today's attack will be with less men. We will leave in an hour, no more.'
The men began to murmur that they had not yet been told of the destination. Busch smiled.
'You see why I do not give out all of the details of our plans?' he asked rhetorically. 'What if Caleb knew everything? We'd all be in danger. Not even Johnson knew all our plans, and he is a marine officer in His Majesty's service.'
Busch paused for just a moment longer, adding to the drama. No regimental commander, it seemed to Jake, had a better measure of himself or how he impacted on his men.
'Salem. We're going to attack Salem near the Connecticut border. It will be a profitable engagement, I warrant.
The pronouncement was met with general approval, Jake nodding with everyone else. But the target baffled the American spy — the small hamlet of Salem was many miles inland, on the opposite end of the county from the river. If they were undertaking a raid with the help of a British vessel, as seemed likely from Busch's reference to the Dependence, why were they going so far away? Why would a marine officer be involved? And what of the chain.
But there was no leisure to contemplate these questions, or craft some manner of clandestine inquiry. The barn door burst open, and rather than the patrol of American militia Jake might have wished for, one of Busch's uniformed irregulars appeared.
'Captain, I've found Major Johnson's horse,' he declared, sweeping his hand in a bold gesture. A Tory behind him led the gray-dappled stallion Jake had left near the road into the barn. 'He was hitched to a tree at the edge of the woods.'
Chapter Eight
While Jake was greatly pleased to finally have the mystery of Johnson cleared up — and to find that he had inadvertently harmed the British operation — his joy was nonetheless mitigated by the untimely discovery of his horse.
The gathering of Tories did not know he had killed Johnson, of course. Nor did they yet realize that Jake had ridden the horse here. He therefore had the option of denying everything merely by remaining mute, and bluffing the rangers with some story about having had his mount shot out from under him on the way to the farm.
But that path was fraught with eventual danger. For instance, he might have to explain why he had neglected to include the incident in detailing his other exploits that night. He would also be testing Busch's memory of the animal he'd been riding. So Jake plunged in a direction that offered immediate liabilities, but presented the prospect of safety once these were cleared.
'What are you doing with my horse?' he exclaimed with mixed innocence and alarm, rushing toward the animal.
'Your horse?' answered the soldier who had led the animal in. He turned to Busch. 'Captain, I swear to you that this is the animal Major Johnson was riding last month when we met with him. I'd know him, sir, if I met him in a blinding snowstorm on the Boston Commons.'
Now the reader will realize that no stallion in the continent is so distinct as to be unlike any other; nevertheless, the dark gray markings on the lighter gray field of this animal were relatively unique. Not only Busch but Sergeant Lewis examined the horse; both men agreed with the soldier who had led him in.
'How long have you had him?' demanded Busch.
'I acquired the horse from a gentleman a day ago,' said Jake. 'The terms were favorable, though he requested that I be discreet. He did not give his name.”
'Explain yourself.'
