"We can't leave him there, sir," said one of the rangers.
"We won't. I guarantee that he will be rescued, but only after our raid. They are not in immediate danger. As for the troop Johnson was supposed to meet, they will have to see to their own safety."
"If the rebels take Caleb to Fishkill, sir, it will be difficult to free him," said Lewis.
"We will hear of it, I daresay, from our sources, well in advance. In the meantime, we have more important problems to concentrate on. Johnson's loss means today's attack will be with less men. We will leave in an hour, no more."
The men began to murmur that they had not yet been told of the destination. Busch smiled.
"You see why I do not give out all of the details of our plans?" he asked rhetorically. "What if Caleb knew everything? We'd all be in danger. Not even Johnson knew all our plans, and he is a marine officer in His Majesty's service."
Busch paused for just a moment longer, adding to the drama. No regimental commander, it seemed to Jake, had a better measure of himself or how he impacted on his men.
"Salem. We're going to attack Salem near the Connecticut border. It will be a profitable engagement, I warrant.
The pronouncement was met with general approval, Jake nodding with everyone else. But the target baffled the American spy — the small hamlet of Salem was many miles inland, on the opposite end of the county from the river. If they were undertaking a raid with the help of a British vessel, as seemed likely from Busch's reference to the Dependence, why were they going so far away? Why would a marine officer be involved? And what of the chain.
But there was no leisure to contemplate these questions, or craft some manner of clandestine inquiry. The barn door burst open, and rather than the patrol of American militia Jake might have wished for, one of Busch's uniformed irregulars appeared.
"Captain, I've found Major Johnson's horse," he declared, sweeping his hand in a bold gesture. A Tory behind him led the gray-dappled stallion Jake had left near the road into the barn. "He was hitched to a tree at the edge of the woods."
Chapter Eight
While Jake was greatly pleased to finally have the mystery of Johnson cleared up — and to find that he had inadvertently harmed the British operation — his joy was nonetheless mitigated by the untimely discovery of his horse.
The gathering of Tories did not know he had killed Johnson, of course. Nor did they yet realize that Jake had ridden the horse here. He therefore had the option of denying everything merely by remaining mute, and bluffing the rangers with some story about having had his mount shot out from under him on the way to the farm.
But that path was fraught with eventual danger. For instance, he might have to explain why he had neglected to include the incident in detailing his other exploits that night. He would also be testing Busch's memory of the animal he'd been riding. So Jake plunged in a direction that offered immediate liabilities, but presented the prospect of safety once these were cleared.
"What are you doing with my horse?" he exclaimed with mixed innocence and alarm, rushing toward the animal.
"Your horse?" answered the soldier who had led the animal in. He turned to Busch. "Captain, I swear to you that this is the animal Major Johnson was riding last month when we met with him. I'd know him, sir, if I met him in a blinding snowstorm on the Boston Commons."
Now the reader will realize that no stallion in the continent is so distinct as to be unlike any other; nevertheless, the dark gray markings on the lighter gray field of this animal were relatively unique. Not only Busch but Sergeant Lewis examined the horse; both men agreed with the soldier who had led him in.
"How long have you had him?" demanded Busch.
"I acquired the horse from a gentleman a day ago," said Jake. "The terms were favorable, though he requested that I be discreet. He did not give his name.”
"Explain yourself."
Jake described Johnson carefully, right down to the cravat haphazardly tucked into his shirt. They had fallen in together while traveling down from Wiccopee, and through certain signs Jake had been given to understand that the man was British or at least loyal to the king. Jake told him in confidence that he was "heading south"; the man claimed to be going in the same direction, but had to dally in the neighborhood a while longer. It would be most convenient, he hinted, if an arrangement could be made regarding their horses.
"He said at first that his horse was tired from its exertions. When I examined the animal I saw that he was in fine shape. I got the better end of the deal by far, though I sensed the man was in some difficulty."
"Sounds like a convenient story to me," said the Tory whom Jake had teased so effectively before.
Jake turned to confront the man — and found a cocked pistol pointed at the small space between his eyes.
He shrugged calmly. His survival depended entirely on seeming forthright. "You can believe me or not. Where would I come by such a magnificent animal? I am a poor farmer — or was, until the rebels chased me from my land."
The party looked at Busch to decide the matter. And Busch looked at Jake.
The two men exchanged a glance that measured the depth of their souls. Jake, having saved his life, already had won the Tory captain's trust once, and thus had a deep advantage. Still, this was a long and penetrating look, and a less practiced agent might well have crumbled beneath its burden.
How long they stared at each other, Jake could not tell.
Nor could he say what the other men might be doing in the barn around him. All he knew was that this Tory was a strong man with an iron will and a sense of himself that rivaled many a firm patriot's.
"Smith's loyalty is unquestionable," said Busch, putting his hand to the ranger's pistol. "He saved my life when we were ambushed by Skinners. He didn't know then that I was a ranger; in fact, he couldn't be sure of me at all. He is a bit rash, perhaps, but his heart is sound and his body strong."
As the captain told the story of the encounter, confirming and indeed enhancing Jake's tale, his men's attitude toward the newcomer clearly warmed. The hints of his stays in England, which showed that he was from a family of some means, were amplified with a few words from Jake, who noted — honestly, as it happened — that his uncle was in business there. Otherwise, the disguised patriot adopted the stance of a humble and reticent hero, the better to add luster to his shine.
From the moment they met in Prisco's, Busch had taken a strong liking to the good-looking and intelligent stranger. But this should not be held as a serious character flaw; so had many American generals, including the commander-in-chief himself.
"I expect big things from you, Smith," said Busch as he waved his audience to breakfast. "Don't let me down.”
"I won't, sir." Jake's voice was so solemn that the king would have counted him among his closest supporters.
As Jake had hoped, Busch theorized that Johnson realized he was being followed, and had therefore traded horses to avoid suspicion. The inevitable conclusion at his missing the meeting was that the Americans had subsequently captured the British officer, which could also explain the increase in patrols and the subsequent capture of Caleb. While the temptation to attack the prison was strong — the church was located only two or three miles away — Busch reasoned that the Americans might expect such an action. Neither Johnson nor Caleb knew enough of their plans to give them away, and Busch interpreted the fact that the rebels had not shown up at Stoneman's as a sign that they had not cooperated in the least.
Like all good commanders, the Tory leader took these setbacks as an opportunity to push his men harder. They would carry on, he announced; their cause was just and victory within their grasp.