The Hidden Children | Page 3

Look at your map."

He pushed his horse straight up to the closed door, continuing to
examine the dismantled sign which hung motionless, there being no
wind stirring.
"This should be Hays's Tavern," he said, "unless they lied to us at
Ossining. Can you make anything of the sign, Mr. Loskiel?"
"Nothing, sir. But we are on the highway to Poundridge, for behind us
lies the North Castle Church road. All is drawn on my map as we see it
here before us; and this should be the fine dwelling of that great villain
Holmes, now used as a tavern by Benjamin Hays."
"Rap on the door," said Boyd; and our rifleman escort rode forward and
drove his rifle-butt at the door, "There's a man hiding within and
peering at us behind the third window," I whispered.
"I see him," said Boyd coolly.
Through the heated silence around us we could hear the hornets
buzzing aloft under the smoke-stained eaves. There was no other sound
in the July sunshine.
The solemn tavern stared at us out of its injured eyes, and we three men
of the Northland gazed back as solemnly, sobered once more to
encounter the trail of the Red Beast so freshly printed here among the
pleasant Westchester hills.
And to us the silent house seemed to say: "Gentlemen, gentlemen!
Look at the plight I'm in-- you who come from the blackened North!"
And with never a word of lip our heavy thoughts responded: "We know,
old house! We know! But at least you still stand; and in the ashes of
our Northland not a roof or a spire remains aloft between the dwelling
of Deborah Glenn and the ford at the middle fort."
Boyd broke silence with an effort; and his voice was once more cool
and careless, if a little forced:
"So it's this way hereabouts, too," he said with a shrug and a sign to me

to dismount. Which I did stiffly; and our rifleman escort scrambled
from his sweatty saddle and gathered all three bridles in his mighty,
sunburnt fist.
"Either there is a man or a ghost within," I said again, "Whatever it is
has moved."
"A man," said Boyd, "or what the inhumanity of man has left of him."
And it was true, for now there came to the door and opened it a thin
fellow wearing horn spectacles, who stood silent and cringing before us.
Slowly rubbing his workworn hands, he made us a landlord's bow as
listless and as perfunctory as ever I have seen in any ordinary. But his
welcome was spoken in a whisper.
"God have mercy on this house," said Boyd loudly. "Now, what's amiss,
friend? Is there death within these honest walls, that you move about on
tiptoe?"
"There is death a-plenty in Westchester, sir," said the man, in a voice as
colorless as his drab smalls and faded hair. Yet what he said showed us
that he had noted our dress, too, and knew us for strangers.
"Cowboys and skinners, eh?" inquired Boyd, unbuckling his belt.
"And leather-cape, too, sir."
My lieutenant laughed, showing his white teeth; laid belt, hatchet, and
heavy knife on a wine-stained table, and placed his rifle against it. Then,
slipping cartridge sack, bullet pouch, and powder horn from his
shoulders, stood eased, yawning and stretching his fine, powerful
frame.
"I take it that you see few of our corps here below," he observed
indulgently.
The landlord's lack-lustre eyes rested on me for an instant, then on
Boyd:

"Few, sir."
"Do you know the uniform, landlord?"
"Rifles," he said indifferently.
"Yes, but whose, man? Whose?" insisted Boyd impatiently.
The other shook his head.
"Morgan's!" exclaimed Boyd loudly. "Damnation, sir! You should
know Morgan's! Sixth Company, sir; Major Parr! And a likelier
regiment and a better company never wore green thrums on frock or
coon-tail on cap!"
"Yes, sir," said the man vacantly.
Boyd laughed a little:
"And look that you hint as much to the idle young bucks hereabouts--
say it to some of your Westchester squirrel hunters----" He laid his
hand on the landlord's shoulder. "There's a good fellow," he added,
with that youthful and winning smile which so often carried home with
it his reckless will-- where women were concerned-- "we're down from
Albany and we wish the Bedford folk to know it. And if the gallant
fellows hereabout desire a taste of true glory-- the genuine article-- why,
send them to me, landlord-- Thomas Boyd, of Derry, Pennsylvania,
lieutenant, 6th company of Morgan's-- or to my comrade here, Mr.
Loskiel, ensign in the same corps."
He clapped the man heartily on the shoulder and stood looking around
at the stripped and dishevelled room, his handsome head a little on one
side, as though in frankest admiration. And the worn and pallid