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Updated: August 13, 2024
Old Stoner wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bit into a twist of tobacco, spat derisively, and said: "This pup Beacraft swares he'll lift my haar 'fore he gits through with me! Threatened men live long. Kindly tell him me an' my sons is to hum. Sir George." The big, lank boys laughed, and winked at me as I passed. "Good trail an' many skelps to ye!" said old Stoner.
Under the oak-tree I found Murphy and Mount, smoking their pipes and watching Beacraft, who lay with his rough head pillowed on his arms, feigning slumber. "Why did you mark so many houses with the red hatchet?" I asked, pleasantly. He did not move a muscle, but over his face a deep color spread to the neck and hair. "Murphy," I said, "take that prisoner to General Schuyler!"
Sir George bowed, laughingly, saying that our journey had brought us so near her that we could not neglect to pay our respects. "Where is Mr. Beacraft?" she said, bewildered, and at the same moment caught sight of him through the open doorway, seated under the oak-tree, apparently in delightful confab with Murphy and Mount. "I do not quite understand," she said, gazing steadily at Sir George.
Murphy, who had quietly entered the cellar, returned empty-handed, and, at a signal from me, stepped outside and seated himself on a chopping-block in the yard, from whence he commanded a view of the house and vicinity. "Now, Mr. Beacraft," I said, "whoever lodges above must come down; and it would be pleasanter for everybody if you carried the invitation."
"Come in, friends; you must know my old acquaintance Beacraft better; a King's man, gentlemen, so we can all feel at home now!" For a moment Beacraft looked as though he meant to shut the door in our faces, but Mount's huge bulk was in the way, and we all followed his lead, entering a large, unplastered room, part kitchen, part bedroom.
My riflemen ate like hounds after a chase, tipping their porridge-dishes to scrape them clean, then bolted eggs and smoking corn-bread in a trice, and rose, taking Beacraft with them to the doorway. "Fill your pipes, lads," I said. "Sit out in the sun yonder. Mr. Beacraft may have some excellent stories to tell you."
"I must do my work," said Beacraft, angrily, but Mount and Murphy each took an arm and led the unwilling man across the strip of potato-hills to a grassy knoll under a big oak, from whence a view of the house and clearing could be obtained.
The man gave me an evil look. "I don't know you," he said, "but I could guess your business." And to Mount: "What do you want?" "We want to know," said I, "whether Captain Walter Butler is lodging here?" "He was," said Beacraft, grimly; "he left yesterday." "And I hope you like my sto-ry!"
Beacraft looked around at us, and his eyes rested on Sir George. "Who be you?" he asked. "This is my friend, Mr. Covert," said Mount, fairly sweating cordiality from every pore "my dear old friend, Mr. Covert " "Oh," said Beacraft, "I thought he was Sir George Covert.... And yonder stands your dear old friend Timothy Murphy, I suppose?" "Exactly," smiled Mount, rubbing his palms in appreciation.
Murphy and Elerson have just heard that Walter Butler's mother and sister, and a young lady, Magdalen Brant you met her at Varicks' are staying quietly at the house of a Tory named Beacraft. We must strive to catch him there; and, failing that, we must watch Magdalen Brant, that she has no communication with the Iroquois." He hesitated, head bent.
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