to finish the thieves off. But Busch had both overcome the shock of the close call and realized the men held little real threat to his ultimate mission, whatever that might be.
He was also man enough to admit the truth of the roving bandit gangs and their allegiances, which many a hot patriot would not.
Three miles north, the Tory pulled up his horse's reins. They had arrived at a crossroads undistinguished from hundreds of others in the surrounding countryside. Jake had only a vague idea of where they were? a mile or so from North Castle and not far from the Kisco River. 'We'll rest here a bit,' said Busch. 'So what are we all about, then?' Jake asked. 'Come now, surely you've guessed after our encounter.' 'I'm not in the habit of making guesses.' 'Well, Mr. Smith, what are you in the habit of?'
'I have only good and sober habits,' said Jake. 'I am God fearing and looking for work, if the truth be told. I have no money.'
'I wouldn't worry about that,' said Busch. He pulled his horse around to look down the road. The stars shone as brightly as they could, but the neighboring vicinity was still dark and shadowy. 'I know from your actions as well as your comments that you are loyal to the king, and a brave man besides.'
'As are you,' said Jake.
' Indeed, I am a bit more,' said Busch, his voice instantly acquiring an elevated tone. 'I am Captain John Busch, of his lordship Earl Graycolmb's own Loyal Rangers, working with His Majesty's Marines to defeat the rebels in the Highlands. I am recruiting men, such as yourself, to vindicate His Majesty's name.'
Jake could only nod.
'I assume you will join us.'
' What do I get if I join?'
'Besides preserving your country and winning back your land? I would think those enough for a man of honor.' Busch's displeasure was brief but genuine; he had already formed an opinion of Jake, and the expression of material interests conflicted with it. 'You will get a bounty of fifty pounds, legal money, besides pay, and the return of your land when the insurrection is ended. Is that good enough for you?'
'I would fight for my king without reward,' responded Jake, 'though in my destitute state I will be glad for any I can find. Where do I sign up?'
'Consider yourself recruited,' answered the captain. 'After tonight, I consider you the brother I never had.'
Approaching hoof beats echoed through the trees, and Busch took a fresh pistol from a holster on his horse's saddle as he guided the animal to the side of the road. Jake pulled his own animal around and waited opposite him, his own pistol in hand. The Segallas was reloaded and returned to its resting place inside his belt beneath his shirt.
The rider had approached from a long way off, and it took several minutes for him to arrive. Finally his horse's light trot was replaced by a soft whistle — two bars from the fighting song, 'British Grenadiers.'
Busch answered with a whistle of his own.
'Captain?'
'Approach,' Busch ordered. He kicked his horse's side gently and the mount cantered into the roadway, meeting a rider. Jake waited until both men had stopped, then pushed his horse out behind the newcomer.
'Corporal Caleb Evans, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Jake Smith. He has just joined us.'
'Smith, eh?' Caleb Evans was a pudgy man, the sort who sat on his horse like a loosely packed bag of onions. There was not enough light to study his face, but he wore an oversized beaver hat not dissimilar to the Quaker van Clynne favored. He greeted the newcomer with unveiled doubts. 'Who are you running from that you have adopted that name?'
'My father gave it to me, as his father had handed it to him,' responded Jake. 'It is thought that our ancestors worked at a forge, though we ourselves are farmers.'
'Farmers?'
'Or were formerly,' said the patriot spy. 'I was run off my land.'
'He's with us, Caleb; he's made that clear enough already,' said Busch. 'He has spent much time in England, and he just saved my life.' 'Indeed?' 'We were ambushed by two Skinners.' The corporal's skepticism evaporated into concern for his commander. 'Were you harmed?' 'My coat has a hole in it,' said Busch. 'But Smith saved us from further damage.' 'We can't afford to lose you, sir. Perhaps you should return to Stoneman's, and let me go on myself.'
'Nonsense. Come, and make sure your pistols are charged and ready. Smith!' Busch had already turned his horse away and was starting on the road east. 'Take this road three miles to the west. You'll find a farm that belongs to a man named Stoneman. A small force is gathering there. Present yourself to the sergeant. His name is Lewis. Tell him I have recruited you.'
Jake would much have preferred to stay with Busch and his corporal. But before he could protest, the two Tories rode off. The only course open was to travel on to Stoneman's, and see what he could gather of the group's plans.
Chapter Six
Jake rode north along the road as cautiously as possible, searching with one eye for any activity that would hint at his destination, and with the other for additional American patrols. His pistol was no longer in its holster — he held it firmly in his hand.
This part of New York was particularly difficult to travel through at night, even when the moon was full; hilly and densely wooded where it was not farmed, it piled shadow upon shadow. The trees, proud of their new coat of leaves, obscured much of the already dim light thrown off by the stars,
Such are the areas where ghosts are born, and Jake might have been forgiven for thinking the spark he noticed through the woods on his right was some specter in search of its lost corporeality. Cautiously he dismounted and walked his horse along the roadside, paralleling the light's movements. It was running downhill toward what seemed to be a peculiarly shaped group of hills. As his eyes studied the landscape, the formation transformed itself into three buildings. A tight path through the roadside scrub-the type of shortcut children take to church — opened in front of him. He walked down it and within a few yards found himself in a haying field.
Jake's boots were heavy and he felt as if with every step he and his horse were making enough noise for a regiment, though in truth they were as silent as the slipping of time through a man's life. The animal he'd taken from Johnson had adopted him as its true master, and mimicked his movements perfectly; he pulled his head down as if to show he could sink to all fours if needed.
As Jake drew closer, he realized the layout of the barnyard, arranged with its back to the field he was crossing, favored his approach. He also saw that there was definitely a gathering in the barn, and noticed a pair of figures walking down a lane from the other direction toward the building.
The light he had seen had obviously come from a torch, but its bearer had not gone into the barn. Nor had he taken up station in the field to guard against intruders, or else Jake would have had to announce himself long before this. Whoever it was had disappeared around a corner of the building, and Jake had to walk some distance in that direction before the light reappeared.
Prudence as well as curiosity demanded an explanation. The edge of the field was marked by a run of short fruit trees and a split-rail fence. Jake tied his horse to one of the posts and crouched down to creep through the grass.
He was close enough to the barn for the hushed sounds inside to form a murmur in his ears, a kind of music to which the figure carrying the light danced.
Not danced, but worked, for the shadow was placing dried rushes, sticks, and branches against the base of the building. This was no ghost, nor a lackadaisical guard, but a woman, thin and hatless, who was strong enough to take a large pail in one hand while holding a torch with the other.
