premature.'
'You haven't told Jane yet, in other words.'
'Marriage is a delicate thing to a Dutchman. It proceeds by stages. In any event, it is not the matter presently under discussion. Breaking our partnership at this point would be ill-advised; my services in routing these Tory criminals would be quite invaluable.'
'True,' said Jake, changing his tactics if not his posture. He sorely wanted some sleep. 'But who would believe a Dutchman, let alone a squire such as yourself, to be a Tory?'
Van Clynne could find no argument there, nor would Jake let him, as he continued.
'My success depends entirely on them thinking I am a traitor. Now that is a game I have often played, but yourself-who would believe it?'
'I convinced Sir William Howe. And your General Bacon.'
Jake made a dismissive spitting noise at the mention of the first general's name, but at the second his reaction was quite different. They had indeed fooled him, but by the thinnest hair on an aging cat's paw.
'Regardless, I am the officer in charge here. As I have said before-'
'An expedition has but one commander. I would like to review the election where you were selected,' grumbled the Dutchman, picking up the bedcovers in tacit surrender. 'The ballot was definitely loaded. This is bad precedent for running a country, believe me, sir. There is need for more Dutchmen among your congress; then we would see what a revolution ought to be.'
Despite his continued complaints or perhaps because of them, van Clynne soon fell fast asleep. Within a half hour his snores could have been confused with the sound of a grist mill taking on rough wheat.
Jake gathered his rest fitfully. A quirk of nature allowed him to go for several days on barely a few winks, and he rose well before the appointed hour, cleaning and inspecting his single officer's pistol and his four-barreled Segallas pocket pistol to make sure both were at the ready. The latter weapon was a rarity in America, with four barrels placed in pairs before two separate locks; once charged, the top set could be fired and then the barrel works flipped so the second pair could be used. It was an ingenious arrangement, and if its small bullets were useful only for close work, the miniature pistol was nonetheless a prized possession.
Besides the guns, Jake carried a long, elk-handled knife that had been given to him by a special friend, a French half-breed trapper who had helped him escape from Canada a week before. His greatest weapons, however, were his resourcefulness and gilded tongue, both of which he expected to put to the test before the sun broke over the hills.
When the large clock in the great room downstairs struck 2 a.m., Jake put his jacket over his waistcoat and snuck from his room, creeping down the stairs. The rest of the house was slumbering peacefully; the only noise came from the echoes of the Dutchman's loud snores against the rafters.
The rendezvous was quickly met; Jake was but three steps from the door when he heard a hissing from the side of the house. Busch stepped forward, and together they gathered their horses and rode off up the road.
They had gone but a short way, completely in silence, when Jake heard the low nicker of a horse in the woods nearby. He was just turning to Busch when two mounted men appeared from the shadows, guns drawn, and demanded to know their allegiance. 'Why?' demanded Busch. 'Because we asked, simpleton. You — what side are you on?' 'What's it to you?' answered Jake, his voice harsher than Busch's.
The patriot spy assumed that the ambush had been staged to test his loyalty, and so determined to play his role more freely than he might have otherwise. When one of the men — who fairly reeked of rum but was otherwise difficult to discern in the darkness — held out a pistol in his face and demanded again which side he was on, Jake drew himself straight in the saddle and declared for King George.
The response was the soft but definite sound of a pistol being cocked.
'Say your prayers, Tory.'
'Which prayers would you like to hear?' Jake asked his tormentor, who edged his horse so close to Jake's that their necks touched. His companion remained silent, sitting on his horse opposite Busch, near the side of the darkened road.
Even as Jake asked his question, he realized he had mistaken the situation. This was not a stage play — the men holding weapons on them were aligned with the American side, though the hour and the rum indicated they were not regulars.
'You are interested in our money, not our politics,' said Busch evenly. 'Don't add murder to your crimes.'
'It's not a crime to kill a Tory,' said the man holding the gun at Jake's head. He nonetheless interpreted Busch's words to mean that they would comply, and his tone lightened ever so slightly. 'Hand over what you've got, slowly. And we'll see if your lives are worth saving.'
The man started to lower his pistol so he could accept the travelers' gold. Jake's officer's gun was in the front holster of his saddle, near the horseman; it was impossible to get it without being seen — and shot. But at the first sign of trouble he had slipped his right hand into his shirt, and managed to conceal his pocket pistol in his fingers, away from the man covering him.
He was unlikely to have as large an advantage as this again. While Lieutenant Colonel Jake Gibbs did not like harming anyone connected to the American Cause, these two men had already declared themselves criminals, and the patriots would be well rid of them.
He dove down across his horse, flinging his left boot upwards into the flank of the thief s animal with such a sharp kick that the horse leaped sideways, stumbling backwards and losing its balance. The man's gun went off as he fell to the ground; by that time, Jake had fired two of the Segallas' small but deadly bullets into the bulky shadow before Busch. He aimed for what he took to be the man's shoulder, hoping to wound but not kill him. The man fell back in a tumble, his own pistol firing errantly.
Busch drew his gun from a front holster but Jake pounded his stallion's side and got the animal in motion, reaching over and pushing Busch's along with him. The Tory's aim was disrupted and he missed the thief, who by now was rolling on the ground in pain but not mortal danger.
The threat diffused, Busch and Jake thundered down the road. It was soon clear they had not been followed, but they galloped another half mile just to be sure.
Busch's two-cornered hat had slipped from his head but landed in his hand during the brief battle; when they stopped, he examined it carefully before turning his attention to Jake.
'Are you all right, Smith?'
'Yes, I'm fine.'
'You saved us both, I daresay.' Busch's voice was grateful, and yet not panicked; he could have been talking about having preserved a few quarts of milk from spoiling. 'The villain's bullet grazed my jacket.' He showed Jake the damage, a light singe in the otherwise strong cotton that crossed directly beneath the left shoulder, perhaps four or five inches removed from his heart. 'I thought they'd gotten my hat as well. I would have preferred that; I'd much like an excuse to buy a new one.'
'You're lucky to be alive.'
'I can't recall a closer scrape,' admitted Busch. 'Did you fire two shots from a pocket pistol?'
'It is a gun I bought in London some time ago,' said Jake, holding it up so Busch could see. There was a new moon and the tree-covered road was particularly dark. 'Made by Segallas. I do not believe there is another on our whole continent.'
'It is an admirable weapon,' said Busch.
'Who were our friends?'
'The rebel criminals call themselves Skinners, though they are after more than mere animal skins, that you may believe.'
'Are they soldiers?'
'The law does not draw a distinction between rebels and plain criminals,' said Busch, patting his horse's side gently before spurring it onward. 'But no, not in the sense you or the rebel congress mean. These men use the war as an excuse for their depravity — as, unfortunately, do some who fancy themselves Royalists. Come, we have much to do tonight.'
Busch's pace precluded further talk. Jake realized that he could not have staged a better incident to gain the Tory's trust. He also saw that his initial assessment of Busch had, if anything, underestimated him. A lesser man might have well been flustered by his brush with death, nor would it have taken too much ego to insist on returning
