The advancing horseman was less than a quarter of a mile away when, of a sudden, there sounded a single pistol shot--then another and another. It was a scattering volley, but at the first report those watching at the inn could see the approaching horse fairly leap ahead under the spur of its rider.
“Ha! the scoundrels are after him!” cried the inn-keeper, his fat face paling.
The colonel’s countenance expressed sudden satisfaction. “Go into the house, Lillian!” he commanded. “There will be trouble here in a moment.” He brought out from under his coat tails as he spoke a huge pistol such as was usually carried in saddle holsters at that day.
Hadley Morris, from the centre of the road, did not see the colonel’s weapon. He only observed the approaching horseman in the cloud of dust, and knew him to be a dispatch-bearer aiming to reach the ferry and Washington’s headquarters beyond. In a moment there loomed up behind him a group of pursuers riding neck and neck upon his trail. They were British dragoons and the space between them and their prey was scarce a hundred yards.
It did not take a very sharp eye to observe that the horse which the messenger bestrode was laboring sorely, while his pursuers were blessed with comparatively fresh mounts. The American had ridden long and hard, and his steed was in no shape for such a spurt of speed as it was put to now. The British had kept clear of this road for weeks, because of the foraging parties from Philadelphia, and, doubtless, the dispatch-bearer hoped to find at the Three Oaks those who would stand him well in this emergency.
At least, there would be a fresh horse there, and perhaps a faithful man or two to help beat off the dragoons until he could escape with his precious charge. He had no thought that there was a still greater danger ahead of him. The dragoons were lashing and spurring their horses to the utmost; and now and again one took a potshot at him; but there on the porch of the old inn stood Colonel Knowles, waiting with all the calmness of a sportsman to bring the fleeing man to earth.
Young Hadley Morris did not notice the colonel; he had forgotten his presence in his interest in the flight and pursuit. But Jonas Benson saw his guest’s big pistol and realized the danger to the approaching fugitive. Yet there seemed nothing he could do to avert the calamity. He dared not openly attack the colonel, for whether the dispatch-bearer escaped or no, the dragoons would be at the inn in a few moments, and, there being no such force of Americans in the neighborhood, they might wreak vengeance on him and his family. The old man was hard put to it, indeed, in this emergency.