The Maid-At-Arms | Page 2

FIRE. X. TWO LESSONS. XI. LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. XII. THE
GHOST-RING. XIII. THE MAID-AT-ARMS. XIV. ON DUTY. XV.
THE FALSE-FACES. XVI. ON SCOUT. XVII. THE FLAG. XVIII.
ORISKANY. XIX. THE HOME TRAIL. XX. COCK-CROW. XXI.
THE CRISIS. XXII. THE END OF THE BEGINNING.

ILLUSTRATIONS

"I SAT DOWN HEAVILY IN HOMESICK SOLITUDE".
"YOU'RE MY COUSIN, GEORGE ORMOND, OR I'M THE
FATTEST LIAR SOUTH OF MONTREAL!".
"SHE SUFFERED US TO SALUTE HER HAND".
"NOW LOOSE ME--FOR THE FOREST ENDS!".
"THIS IS THE END, O YOU WISE MEN AND SACHEMS!".
"JACK MOUNT LOOMED A COLOSSAL FIGURE IN HIS
BEADED BUCKSKINS".
"INSTANTLY MOUNT TRIPPED THE MAN".
"A STRANGE SHYNESS SEEMED TO HOLD US APART".

THE MAID-AT-ARMS
I
THE ROAD TO VARICKS'
We drew bridle at the cross-roads; he stretched his legs in his stirrups,
raised his arms, yawned, and dropped his huge hands upon either thigh
with a resounding slap.
"Well, good-bye," he said, gravely, but made no movement to leave
me.
"Do we part here?" I asked, sorry to quit my chance acquaintance of the
Johnstown highway.
He nodded, yawned again, and removed his round cap of silver-fox fur
to scratch his curly head.
"We certainly do part at these cross-roads, if you are bound for

Varicks'," he said.
I waited a moment, then thanked him for the pleasant entertainment his
company had afforded me, and wished him a safe journey.
"A safe journey?" he repeated, carelessly. "Oh yes, of course; safe
journeys are rare enough in these parts. I'm obliged to you for the
thought. You are very civil, sir. Good-bye."
Yet neither he nor I gathered bridle to wheel our horses, but sat there in
mid-road, looking at each other.
"My name is Mount," he said at length; "let me guess yours. No, sir!
don't tell me. Give me three sportsman's guesses; my hunting-knife
against the wheat straw you are chewing!"
"With pleasure," I said, amused, "but you could scarcely guess it."
"Your name is Varick?"
I shook my head.
"Butler?"
"No. Look sharp to your knife, friend."
"Oh, then I have guessed it," he said, coolly; "your name is
Ormond--and I'm glad of it."
"Why are you glad of it?" I asked, curiously, wondering, too, at his
knowledge of me, a stranger.
"You will answer that question for yourself when you meet your kin,
the Varicks and Butlers," he said; and the reply had an insolent ring that
did not please me, yet I was loath to quarrel with this boyish giant
whose amiable company I had found agreeable on my long journey
through a land so new to me.
"My friend," I said, "you are blunt."

"Only in speech, sir," he replied, lazily swinging one huge leg over the
pommel of his saddle. Sitting at ease in the sunshine, he opened his
fringed hunting-shirt to the breeze blowing.
"So you go to the Varicks?" he mused aloud, eyes slowly closing in the
sunshine like the brilliant eyes of a basking lynx.
"Do you know the lord of the manor?" I asked.
"Who? The patroon?"
"I mean Sir Lupus Varick."
"Yes; I know him--I know Sir Lupus. We call him the patroon, though
he's not of the same litter as the Livingstons, the Cosbys, the Phillipses,
Van Rensselaers, and those feudal gentlemen who juggle with the high
justice, the middle, and the low--and who will juggle no more."
"Am I mistaken," said I, "in taking you for a Boston man?"
"In one sense you are," he said, opening his eyes. "I was born in
Vermont."
"Then you are a rebel?"
"Lord!" he said, laughing, "how you twist our English tongue! 'Tis his
Majesty across the waters who rebels at our home-made Congress."
"Is it not dangerous to confess such things to a stranger?" I asked,
smiling.
His bright eyes reassured me. "Not to all strangers," he drawled,
swinging his free foot over his horse's neck and settling his bulk on the
saddle. One big hand fell, as by accident, over the pan of his long rifle.
Watching, without seeming to, I saw his forefinger touch the priming,
stealthily, and find it dry.
"You are no King's man," he said, calmly.

"Oh, do you take me for a rebel, too?" I demanded.
"No, sir; you are neither the one nor the other--like a tadpole with legs,
neither frog nor pollywog. But you will be."
"Which?" I asked, laughing.
"My wisdom cannot draw that veil for you, sir," he said. "You may take
your chameleon color from your friends the Varicks and remain gray,
or from the Butlers and turn red, or from the Schuylers and turn blue
and buff."
"You credit me with little strength of character," I said.
"I credit you with some twenty-odd years and no experience."
"With nothing more?"
"Yes, sir; with sincerity and a Spanish rifle--which you may have