Gabriel felt better. He smiled back at the woman. She got up from the table and went to work wiping off tables. He finished his meal and said his thank-yous to the woman. She smiled again and waved goodbye as he walked through the door. Slinging his pack over his back, he put his hand in his pocket and felt his ring and the loose change the tavern owner had given him from his dinner the night before. He liked the feel of coins in his pocket. Jingling his change, he set off for King’s Bridge.
He had his drum at his side and was trying not to make it too obvious that he was carrying the instrument as he approached the bridge. It was made of stone and wide and fairly long. He would have liked to stop and look over the edge at the Harlem River below, but he thought it would be best not to delay. So he walked briskly across with nobody else in sight. So far, so good, he thought. This may be easier than I imagined.
The thought had no sooner crossed his mind than he heard hoof beats up ahead on the road. He quickly darted to the north side and down an embankment under the bridge. The horses’ hooves pounded overhead, echoing loudly in his ears. His heart raced, and his breath quickened. He waited, hoping no one had seen him. What if Reverend Loring sends men out looking for me? he thought. What if the Reverend told the loyalists in New York that I am a traitor?
Gabriel tried to push back his fear, but he knew he would have to be cautious on the road. After waiting several minutes, he put his ear to the bottom of the bridge to listen for any sounds of approaching horses. The road above was silent. Cautiously, he climbed back up the embankment. Seeing no one, he ran north along the road, away from the bridge.
As he headed north through Yonkers, it seemed like he heard a horse with a wagon or carriage come beating and rattling along the road every thirty minutes. Each time, he was forced to dive into the grass or bushes along the side of the road and wait. When he emerged, he was a little bit dirtier, and his coat and pants had a few more burrs in them. He even had burrs stuck in his thick black hair.
Gabriel was tired of running off the road for cover in the thickets and bushes. Surely all of these horses and carriages can’t be loyalists or king’s soldiers looking for a patriot to terrorize, he thought. In fact, it is not likely many redcoats would even be on this road. They can’t get into Boston by land without running into the militia surrounding the city. They would have to use a boat, and if they have to go by boat, they would just board a ship at New York and sail to Boston.
As the afternoon sun began to sink in the sky, Gabriel didn’t hear an approaching traveler along the road for some time. Making good time now, he passed taverns at New Rochelle, Larchmont, and Mamaroneck. He saw a few farms off the road in the distance, with cattle grazing and men out working in the fields. As inviting as the taverns and farms appeared, he kept to the road.
He was just thinking about stopping for a quick rest, when he heard approaching hoof beats coming from behind. He began to head for a patch of tall and scruffy grass a few yards off the road, but just as his foot left the rutted dirt path of the road, he changed his mind.
Instead he continued to walk alongside the edge, making sure he was out of the way of the approaching horses. The hoof beats began to grow a little louder now. He thought again of the advice that Ben Daniels gave him back at the tavern about taking to the bushes to avoid travelers. He couldn’t make up his mind, and then, at the last minute, as the horses were now approaching loudly and quickly, he dove into some thick bushes beside the road.
He waited, panting now from the last-minute sprint. Strangely, he now heard nothing but his own breathing, no hoof beats trailing off into the distance — nothing at all. Were the horses going at such a brisk pace that they’ve already passed out of earshot? wondered Gabriel.
The abrupt silence made him uneasy, and he wondered if he should run further into the surrounding trees. Trying to calm himself, he took a deep breath. Dozens of riders had passed on horseback over the course of the day, and none of them had been out looking to capture him and take him back to New York. This is nonsense, he thought. Why am I hiding? He decided to go out and meet whoever might have stopped in the road.
Just as he was about to peak out of the bushes, he heard footsteps approaching and he was suddenly yanked from the bushes. The branches scraped and cut his face, and he was tossed down into the grass alongside the road. He looked up and saw a squat, stocky man standing over him. Dark eyes, framed by even darker fleshy rings, now stared down at him. He let out a gasp. This was Hannigan, Grimm’s helper from the tavern.
A dark shadow of a man sat on horseback, looming over Gabriel and Hannigan. The rider’s voice bellowed, “Well, well, well . . . look what we have here, Hannigan.”
Gabriel squinted up at the rider in his mount. Bradford Grimm himself sat tall and ominous, peering down with a devilish grin upon his face. He still wore
