"It's where the Boutons live a mile or two north, sir. They're a wild parcel." "Are they of our party?" "Oh, yes, sir. But they hunt the leather-caps as we hunt quail scare up a company, fire, and then track down the scattered." "Oh; irregulars." "No, sir, not skinners. They farm it until the British plague them beyond endurance. Then," he added significantly, "they go a-hunting with their dogs."
Last year thousands of bushels of fruit decayed in the orchards; the ripened grain lay rotting where wind and rain had laid it; no hay was cut, no grain milled." "Was this done by the banditti from the lower party?" "Yes, sir; and by the leather-caps, too. The leather-caps stood guard while the Tories plundered and killed. It is usually that way, sir. And our own renegades are as bad.
As I came up with her, she said: "Why are the light dragoons riding on the Bedford road? Is aught amiss?" "A very large body of horse has passed our videttes, making toward Ridgefield. Colonel Sheldon thinks it must be Moylan's regiment." "Do you?" "It may be so." "And if it be the leather-caps?" "Then we must find ourselves in a sorry pickle."