Van Clynne continued his charge across the room, sweeping up the ruby-hilted knife and a pistol the British villain had taken from him. He could not fit through the window, however, and by the time he picked his way across the debris at the front of the cottage all he saw of his tormentor was a shadow disappearing into the woods. He fired anyway, and while he would later swear he hit the figure, his subsequent search discovered no evidence of this. Further pursuit was discontinued when he looked back through the trees and discovered tall red flames rising from the cottage — where all of his paper money lay.
A Dutchman in unstoppered mourning is a pitiful thing to behold. His cheeks sag, his clothes droop, his beard — ordinarily the light red color of leaves tinged by the first blush of autumn — blackens. Even his brow is dark with the color of grief.
Or at least with soot, as Claus van Clynne had run back to the cottage and succeeded in beating back the flames with the aid of a large blanket, though not before they had ravaged the pile of currency Keen had placed on the bench. All that remained was a single, charred quarter of a New Jersey warrant, which van Clynne picked up gingerly from the floor. As he studied it, tears began to form in his eyes; at that moment a light breeze fluttered through the half ruined cottage and caught the brittle remains, dashing them to pieces.
It was the nadir of Claus van Clynne's earthly existence. He stood before the world landless and penniless, bereft of all possessions.
But do we not exaggerate? After all, the Dutchman is known to have stores of money throughout the province, and considerable credit besides. True, he has a considerable pile of bills owed to lawyers and others, all connected with his thus far unsuccessful attempts to win back his family property. But the assets of the van Clynne clan have never been measured in mere financial terms. Forget the rings around his fingers, or the silver buttons- disguised by cheap gold paint-on his vest and coat: the true worth of Claus van Clynne can never be measured by his money, but by the fertile workings of his Dutch brain. For who else in the entire province could turn such a catastrophic loss so quickly into a potential for further gain?
At least that is how he consoled himself when he hoisted himself aboard one of the carriage horses and trotted behind the determined young Rose, who had resumed her mission to General Putnam.
'I would say that your arrival was timely, indeed, but I would not go so far as to say that it was essential to my well-being. In fact, I would posit that had you not arrived when you did, I would right now be concluding my interrogation of my captor on several points of interest.'
'And what would those be?'
'With all due respect, young miss, I do not think matters of high intelligence should be blabbed about on the common roadways where anyone can hear. It is but a few minutes to dawn, and I expect the entire countryside is already awake around us.'
Van Clynne shifted uncomfortably on the horse. He did not like riding without a saddle and the beast seemed to like it even less, shaking its head and hesitating even though the pace was an easy one.
'You were covered with leeches when I arrived. You would have bled to death.'
'Hardly. As a matter of fact, the bleeding was quite a tonic,' said van Clynne. 'I have been feeling too sanguine of late.'
'You said you were feeling ill a minute ago.'
'A good portion of my fortune has vanished in those flames,' said van Clynne. 'But there is no need to sulk. I intend on pressing my claims before General Putnam for full reimbursement, as the money was destroyed by enemy forces while I was engaged on a lawful mission for His Excellency General Washington — '
'Piffle.'
'A lawful mission and I am entitled to full recovery, as designated by congressional act and amply illustrated by precedents dating to the Romans. I shall call on you to testify; it is the least you can do, given your role in my personal disaster.'
'I saved your life! You are an ingrate!'
'I am not ungrateful for your exertions,' said the Dutchman. 'I am merely pointing out that they did not come without a price. As you are young, and therefore open to impressions, I have endeavored to give you the full picture of the situation, so that you may hereafter improve yourself. It is called learning, and a child such as yourself should be thankful for it. Now, if you were Dutch — '
'Dutch?'
'A Dutch girl has a certain education from the womb. I do not mean to criticize your parentage, since it is not a manner of choice for the most part. And I have had stout ale brewed by an Irish housewife that ranks with the best of them,' added van Clynne. That was near the highest compliment he could pay, though of course Rose did not know it. 'But on the whole, on the average that is, the Dutch — do not take this wrongly, but a Dutch girl in your place would not have let my notes lie burning on the bench, for example.'
Rose pulled her horse short and turned to confront her new companion. 'I will take this abuse no longer,' she warned.
'Abuse?' Van Clynne was not used to being addressed in such a tone by anyone, let alone a waif of a girl. Still, he was in a most generous mood — the bloodletting had removed many of the heavier humors from his body. 'Dear, I am afraid you misunderstand me. I am not criticizing you, but praising you.'
'Colonel Gibbs said you would complain about everything from your horse to the weather. But he did not say I should stand still for personal attacks. Remember I am armed, sir, with his own pistol.' 'Have you heard me utter one word of complaint the entire time we have been together?' 'Hardly,' she said satirically. 'I rest my case,' said the Dutchman, prodding his horse to continue.
Van Clynne could not stay quiet, of course, but he turned his discourse to more neutral topics, settling on the state of the roads. He explained they had grown considerably more dusty since the British took stewardship of the area from the Dutch, and indeed were now in such an advanced state of ruin the wilden would hardly consider them cleared sufficiently for a planting of corn.
'Here we are,' said van Clynne as they reached a fork. 'To the right.'
'No, this is the road to the general's headquarters,' said Rose.
'Obviously in the dim light your tender eyes were momentarily clouded. Blink them twice, and follow me on the proper path.'
'Your way heads east, mine is west. The Peek Skill Creek is west, is it not? And the general's headquarters in the village that lies near it?'
'The general's headquarters is indeed in the village near the creek,' said van Clynne. 'But we are not fish. My road will lead us to a shortcut and thence to another and a third. We will arrive in an hour at most.'
'This will take us back to the Post Road,' countered Rose. 'And even a flying horse would take two hours to get to the general.'
'Indeed. And we will be here all morning if you do not respect your elders and do as I say. Come.' The Dutchman kicked his horse for the first time since he had boarded. The animal was so surprised he turned his head back to see if perhaps he had gotten a new master.
'My way,' said the girl firmly, starting down it.
Now if there is one thing Claus van Clynne is truly and justly praised for, it is his knowledge of the road system of the province of New York. Indeed, the Dutchman has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the highways and byways of the eastern half of the continent, and could find his way from Georgia to Vincennes with little difficulty. He especially prided himself on his intimate familiarity with shortcuts; if there was a way to cut five minutes off a route, he not only knew it but could point to an alley shaving another two.
Nor was his ability failing him here, though he might have admitted under different circumstances that Putnam's headquarters could be reached from the left as well as the right fork. But, aside from the sour mood inflicted by the loss of his walking-around money, Rose's manner put him off. She had been somewhat disagreeable since their first acquaintance, and hardly acted with the deference his station as leader of their delegation demanded. He stuck his nose into the air and declined further comment, riding on and expecting Rose to come galloping up behind.
She did not. In fact, she decided to let go of the carriage horse she had tied behind her own so she could increase her speed northward to General Putnam. She was not only sure her way was the right one, she was happy to be free of the Dutchman and his laggard pace. Her heels eagerly found her mount's ribs in an effort to make up lost time.
Losing the horse was a critical mistake, though there was no way she could have known it. Had the animal
