The Little Red Foot Part 78

"Would you be happy?"

"Happy! I should deem myself the most fortunate man on earth!--if I could believe your Scottish prophecy!"

She came nearer, and her eyes seemed depthless dusky in her pale face.

"If that is all you require for happiness, John Drogue," said she in her low, still voice, "then you may take your pleasure of it. I tell you I _know_! And we have but few hours left together, you and I."

Spite of common sense and disbelief in superst.i.tions I could not remain entirely unconcerned before such perfect sincerity, though that she believed in her own strange gift could scarcely convince me.

"Come," said I smilingly, "it may be so. At all events, you cheer me, Penelope, and your kindness heartens me.... Forgive my sullen temper;--it is hard for a man to think himself ignored and perhaps despised. And my ears ache with listening for that same gentle tapping upon my door."

"I hear it now," she said under her breath.

"I hear nothing."

"Alas, no! Yet, that soft-footed maid is knocking on your door.... If only you had heart to hear."

"One does not hear with one's heart," said I, smiling, and stirred to plague her for her mixed metaphor.

"I do," said she, faintly.

After a little silence she turned to go; and I followed, scarce knowing why; and took her hand in the doorway.

"Little prophetess," said I, "who promises me what my heart desires, will you touch your lips to mine as a pledge that your prophecy shall come true?"

She looked back over her shoulder, and remained so, her cheek on her right shoulder.

"Your heart desires a battle, John Drogue; your idle vanity my lips....

But you may possess them if you will."

"I do love you dearly, Penelope Grant."

She said with a breathless little smile:

"Would you love me better if my prophecy came true this very night?"

But I was troubled at that, and had no mind to sound those unventured deeps which, at such moments, I could feel vaguely astir within me. Nor yet did I seriously consider what I truly desired of this slender maid within the circle of my arms, nor what was to come of such sudden encounters with their swift smile and oddly halting breath and the heart, surprised, rhyming rapidly and unevenly in a reckless measure which pleasured less than it embarra.s.sed.

She loosed her hands and drew away from me, and leaned against the wall, not looking toward me.

"I think," she said in a stifled voice, "you are to have your wish this night.... Do you hear anything?"

In the intense stillness, straining my ears, I fancied presently that I heard a distant sound in the night. But if it had been so it died out, and the beat of my heart was louder. Then, of a sudden, I seemed to hear it again, and thought it was my pulses startled by sudden hope.

"What is that sound?" I whispered. "Do you hear it?"

"Aye."

"I hear it also.... Is it imagination? Is there a horse on the highway?

Why, I tell you there is!... There _is_! Do you think he rides express?"

"Out o' the North, my lord," she whispered. And suddenly she turned, gave me a blind look, stretched out one hand.

"_Why_ do you think that horseman comes for me!" I said. My imagination caught fire, flamed, and I stood s.h.i.+vering and crus.h.i.+ng her fingers in my grasp. "Why--why--do you think so?" I stammered. "He's turned into William Street! He gallops this way! d.a.m.nation! He heads toward the Hall!--No! _No!_ By G.o.d, he is in our street, galloping--galloping----"

Like a pistol shot came a far cry in the darkness: "Express-ho! I pa.s.s!

I pa.s.s!" The racket of iron-shod hoofs echoed in the street; doors and windows flew open; a confusion of voices filled my ears; the rattling roar of the hoofs came to a clas.h.i.+ng halt.

"Jimmy Burke's Tavern!" shouted a hoa.r.s.e voice.

"Ye're there, me gay galloper!" came Burke's bantering voice. "An'

phwat's afther ye that ye ride the night like a banshee? Is it Sir John that's chasin' ye crazy, Jock Gallopaway?"

"Ah-h," retorted the express, "fetch a drink for me and tell me is there a Mr. Drogue lodging here? Hey? Upstairs? Well, wait a minute----"

I still had Penelope's hand in mine as in the grip of a vise, so excited was I, when the express came stamping up the stairs in his jack-boots and pistols--a light-horseman of the Albany troop, who seemed smart enough in his mud-splashed helmet and uniform.

"You are Mr. Drogue, sir?"

"I am."

He promptly saluted, fished out a letter from his sack and offered it.

In my joy I gave him five s.h.i.+llings in hard money, and then, dragging Penelope by the hand, hastened to break the numerous and heavy seals and open my letter and read it by the candle's yellow flare.

"Headquarters Northern Dist: Dept: of Tryon County.

Albany, N. Y.

August 1st, 1777.

_Confidential_ "To John Drogue, Esqr, Lieut: Rangers.

Sir,

"An Oneida runner arrived today, who gives an account that Genl St. Leger, with the corps of Sir John Johnson and Colonel John Butler, including a thousand savages under Joseph Brant, has been detached from the army of Genl Burgoyne, and is marching on Fort Schuyler.

"You are directed to take the field instantly with a scout of Oneida Indians, who await you at a rendezvous marked upon the secret map which I enclose herewith.

"You will cross the Buck Island trail somewhere between Rocky River and the Mohawk, and observe St. Leger's line of communications, cutting off such small posts as prove not too strong, taking prisoners if possible, and ascertaining St. Leger's ultimate objective, which may be Johnstown or even Schenectady.

"Having satisfied yourself concerning these matters, you will send your despatch by a runner to Albany, and instantly move your detachment toward Saratoga, where you should come into touch with our Northern forces under General Gates, and there render a verbal report to General Gates in person.

"You are strictly cautioned to destroy this letter after reading, and to maintain absolute secrecy concerning its contents. The map you may retain, but if you are taken you should endeavour to destroy it.

"Sir, I have the honour to be, etc., etc.,

"Ph. Schuyler, "Maj: Gen'l."

Twice I read the letter before I twisted it to a torch and burned it in the candle flame.