Chapter I: How Ezra Prentiss Heard of a Stranger

The tall bay horse and the little roan mare went at a hard gallop down the long, gentle descent of a hill. Both were flecked with foam, for the going was hard, despite the brisk April weather.

“How is the mare taking it?” asked Ezra Prentiss, after a time, drawing in the bay and patting his arched neck encouragingly.

The roan snorted and shook her head as though trying to answer for herself.

“It’s rather hard on her, I’m afraid,” returned Ben Cooper. “But she’s good for a great deal more of it.”

Part way down the slope both boys checked their mounts completely as though by mutual consent. Ezra sat silently in his saddle and swept the countryside with his steady gaze.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun was dropping fast toward the horizon in the west. Acres and acres of brown furrowed fields lay before them upon every side; afar off, men and horses were toiling with the plows; little clumps of houses were to be seen here and there, and tall columns of smoke ascended from the wide-mouthed chimneys into the clear air.

“We are going to have plenty to do from here to Chelmsford,” spoke Ezra at length. “The houses thicken considerably and there seem to be a great many men at work in the fields.” He paused once more, and then turning to Ben, added, “Do you think we can speak to all of them before night sets in?”

“If you took one road and I another, we might,” said Ben.

Ezra frowned. It was very evident that he did not particularly favor this.

“Since starting out from Cambridge we have separated twice,” said he. “And each time it had an almost serious result.”

“First a parcel of Tories were for putting an end to me for what they called treason to King and Parliament,” spoke Ben, good-humoredly.

“And that rascally tinker near Acton almost decoyed me into another nest of them,” added Ezra. “In these unsettled times the road is safer for two than one, especially after dark.”

Ben nodded.

“Right,” said he.

“However,” proceeded Ezra, “more or less danger was expected when we started out.” He touched the handle of a heavy holster pistol, and something of Ben’s good humor came into his face. “Another thing, the Tories are running as much risk as we are.”

“Right again,” declared the other boy. “That, I think, is the proper way to look at it.”

“And then,” continued Ezra, shifting his hand to a saddle pocket, almost filled to bursting with what looked like printed sheets, “we have these to deliver and no great time to do it in.”

There was a silence between them; they studied the country from the hillside and seemed to be revolving the matter earnestly. The brown fields were cut by the fairly smooth road which they were on, and a narrow, rutted wagonway.

“I’ll take this,” said Ezra, pointing toward the latter; “there seem to be quite a number of farmhouses over there beyond that rise, if we can judge by the smoke. You hold to the highroad and don’t miss a single man or boy.”

“Trust me for that,” said Ben. “But,” complainingly, “you always pick the hardest things to do for yourself. Molly is just as fresh as that beast of yours. And then she’s lighter and can pick her way along that broken road like a cat.”

Ezra laughed; and there was a look of appreciation in his eyes as he slapped his friend upon the back.

“Ben,” exclaimed he, “you’re the greatest fellow I ever knew! You always think your share of the work the easiest, no matter what it is. If General Ward had an army of fellows like you before Boston, Gage would not be able to hold the town for a week.”

Far away, against the horizon line, a spire arose from amidst a clump of dwellings.

“I will meet you there as soon after dark as I can,” continued Ezra, his outstretched finger indicating the tower. “If there is an inn wait for me there.”

After a few words more, Ezra urged the reluctant bay into the much cut wagon road; Ben, upon the soft-stepping roan, went loping easily down the highroad, his usually laughing face grave as became a rider with an urgent mission to perform.

Ezra Prentiss after a time dismounted and led his steed by the bridle.

“Mr. Paul Revere used to say a horse well looked after always finished earlier in the day,” said he to himself with a smile. “And I guess it’s true. At any rate, old fellow,” to the bay, “the going is too hard for a rider here; so I’ll try walking for a little, anyway.”

In a field he saw two men working with teams of oxen. He waited at a fence corner until one of them had completed his furrow.

“Good-day, neighbor,” called the boy.

“Good-day,” returned the farmer.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and approached Ezra, glad of an excuse for a moment’s rest from his toil.

“Riding from Boston way?” he inquired eagerly.

“I left Cambridge a few days ago,” replied Ezra.

As he spoke the lad drew out one of the sheets from his saddle pocket and unfolded it. It was covered with an announcement in heavy, bold-faced type.

“This,” said the boy, “is issued by the Massachusetts Committee of Safety, and riders have been sent out in every direction to deliver them to the towns and people round-about.”

The farmer took the circular and began an earnest study of its appeal. The other man, seeing that something unusual was going forward, halted his team and also approached. Leaning over the shoulder of the first, he, too, read the earnest lines.

“You have heard long since what has been done,” said Ezra, soberly, when the two had finished and stood silently gazing at him. “We have struck the first real blow against the oppressors of the colonies. But what was done at Lexington and Concord is only a beginning.”

“A beginning!” said the first man, in surprise.

“Do you really mean to say that Dr. Warren and those others actually intend to go further in the matter?” exclaimed the second.

“They must,” said Ezra. The two before him had weak, wavering faces and thin, light-colored hair; from the close resemblance they bore each other, he judged they must be brothers. “To get any result from the first blow, a second must be struck,” he went on. “There would have been no use in making a beginning if an ending were not also made.”

“England is a powerful nation,” said the first man. “Eh, Josiah?”

“Mighty powerful,” agreed the other, “and so is the King and Parliament.”

“If the people of the colonies remain united and if every man does his full duty, the power of England, her King and Parliament, will be as that,” and the boy snapped his fingers. “This circular calls for the towns to encourage the enlistment of men in the colonial army, as you have seen. It tells you that every moment is precious. A day’s delay may mean the loss of all; it may bring slavery upon you.” He was quoting the document.

But the two men shook their heads. Indecision and fear of the situation were plain in their faces.

“We’ve just lately taken this farm,” said the one called Josiah, “and we’ve counted on this season’s yield to help pay for it. We can’t go into the army.”

“If every one thought of his personal affairs,” said Ezra, “our tyrants would crush us into the earth.” The boy had absorbed the resonant talk of the times, and its use had become a habit upon the present mission. “Take, for instance, men like Mr. Hancock, Mr. Adams, Dr. Warren, and a score of others. They risk very large fortunes in the cause; they give every moment of their time to it. They have done so from the first.”

But there was one thing that the men were firm in—their indecision.

“We’d like to join; we’d like to do all we can. But things won’t let us.” The speaker shook his head nervously. “No, things won’t let us.”

“You think that by holding back you’ll save your property, your season’s crop and all that,” spoke Ezra Prentiss. “But I believe you are mistaken. Suppose most of the men and boys of the towns held back as you seem inclined to do? What then?”

“It might be a good thing,” answered Josiah, fearfully.

“It is sure to be a very bad thing for you and everybody else. If there is no army to oppose him, Gage will march his regiments out of the city, and he’ll seize, burn and destroy until he has the people of Massachusetts upon their knees.”

The fear that filled the eyes of the two brothers was almost pitiful to see.

“Do you think that will happen?” asked one.

“I sincerely do,” returned Ezra, who, to tell the truth, was rather disgusted at this exhibition of selfish cowardice.

The farmers consulted together in whispers. Then Josiah said:

“As my brother remarked, we’d like to do all we can. But we have doubts. It’s not altogether our property that holds us back.”

“What then?” asked Ezra.

The man looked toward his brother, who nodded what was intended to be encouragement; but it was of a very timorous sort, indeed.

“Things hereabouts are not altogether right,” said Josiah, lowering his voice to a whisper and leaning over the fence that Ezra might hear. “They haven’t been just what you might call right for some time.”

Ezra regarded him wonderingly.

“Nothing has been right in all the colony for some time,” said he. “So what you say is not surprising.”

The man coughed dryly and waved his hand.

“You don’t quite understand what I mean,” said he. “What you refer to is what everybody has seen, and everybody knows. But what I refer to is what nobody but my brother and I have seen, and what, more than likely, nobody else has any idea of.”

“Something that has to do with the public good?” inquired Ezra.

The man hesitated; but his brother made answer for him.

“Yes,” spoke he, “you might call it that.”

Ezra led his horse nearer to the fence and threw the rein over a post.

“Perhaps,” said he, “you wouldn’t mind being a little more definite.”

Once more the men consulted in whispers.

“He’s only a boy,” Ezra heard Josiah protest.

“But he’s from the head of matters at Boston,” argued the other, in a low but perfectly distinct tone. “They seem to trust him, so why not we?”

This seemed unanswerable reasoning; so Josiah again turned to the lad.

“Do you know this section very well?” he asked.

“No,” replied Ezra.

“Well, we do,” said the man. “In fact, we were born and raised hereabouts. And we know every man-jack for miles around.”

“Naturally,” said the boy.

“So,” proceeded Josiah, “if a stranger comes to live here, particularly a queer-acting stranger, we’d be likely to take notice of him. And if he rented the next place to ours,” with a jerk of the head down the wagonway, “we’d be likely to more than particularly take notice.”

“Well?” asked Ezra, patiently.

“Some time ago, just such a man did just that very thing,” said the farmer earnestly. “He is odd. He’s not friendly. He keeps great dogs and, save for them, seems to live alone. But now and then strangers come. They always come after dark and are gone by daylight. Who they are, and what they are, we never have been able to find out.”

“It does seem rather queer,” admitted Ezra. “But I can scarcely see just how it can have anything to do with the matter between the colonies and the King’s government.”

“Neither do we,” confessed Josiah. “We can’t see it either. But we feel it. It’s just as though we were being watched, somehow. We feel that everything we do is taken note of by somebody we can’t place. And we think,” again fearfully nodding down the wagonway, “that it’s that man.”

Ezra studied the men carefully. That they were of a tight-fisted, timorous sort, he had already made up his mind; but he had not given them credit for so much imagination as they displayed. However, that they were sincere was not to be denied.

He remained for some time, questioning them curiously; at length he mounted his horse and prepared to move on.

“It’s more than likely,” said he, settling himself in the saddle, “that this man’s strange way of living has gradually brought you to thinking other strange things of him.” He gathered up his reins; the bay moved forward a few steps; then he was brought to a halt once more, and the boy turned, one hand resting on its flank. “Where did you say he lived?” he asked with a careless air.

“About three miles below there,” said Josiah’s brother, pointing down the road. “You come to a wood, then to a stream of water, crossed by a bridge, and just above it is the house, by the roadside. But don’t stop. Because if the dogs are loose, which they generally are, coming on night, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”

“Thanks,” replied Ezra. “I’ll look out for them.” He waved his hand. “Good-bye, and give the Committee’s circular another reading. There are truths in it that can’t be denied.”

Then with a glance at the fast lowering sun, he touched the bay with the spur and turned down the narrow road.