"These ropes are tearing into the flesh," I groaned. "I'd be just as safe if they were loosened a bit."
I saw him lean forward, shading his face with one hand, as he stared toward me through the darkness. I thought he drew a quick breath as from surprise, and there was a moment's hesitancy.
"Let out the ropes a trifle, Peter," came the final order.
The little bald-headed man went at it without a word, the lieutenant reining back his horse slightly, and drawing his hat lower over his eyes. In the silence one of the horses neighed, and the boy seemed to straighten in his saddle, glancing suspiciously about.
"Ride ahead slowly, Tonepah," he ordered. "I'll catch up with you." He turned back toward me. "Who are you, anyway?"
Surprised at the unexpected question, my first thought was to conceal my identity. These were King's men, and I was in ordinary clothes--the rough homespun furnished by Farrell. If, by any chance, I was not the party they had expected to waylay, I might be released without search.
"Who am I?" I echoed. "Do you mean you have gone to all this trouble without knowing whom you hold prisoner?"
"It seems so," coolly. "We know who we thought you were, but I am beginning to doubt your being the right man. Peter, take his hat off."
I straightened up bareheaded, the faint star-gleam on my face. The lieutenant remained quiet, but Peter broke his sphinx-like silence.
"No; he must have taken the other road after all," with a slight laugh. "We've been on a wild-goose chase. However, it's too late now to catch the fellow on this trip."
Peter rubbed his bald pate, his eyes on me.
"An' what'll we do with this lad?" he answered drawlingly. "Turn him loose?"
"Bring him along. We'll find out to-morrow who he is, and what his business may be. Men are not riding these roads at midnight without some purpose."
He wheeled his horse, and, with a touch of the spur, disappeared in the darkness ahead. Peter clambered back into the saddle, and gripped my rein.
"Come on," he said disgustedly, kicking the black in the side. "It's a ways yet afore yer lie down."
We rode steadily, and at a good pace. Occasionally the older man swore solemnly, but Peter never uttered a sound, not even turning his head at my attempts to draw him into conversation. The situation mystified me, but it became more and more evident that I should have to wait until morning before learning the truth. Neither guard would open his lips, and the lieutenant rode straight forward, merely a dim shadow, in advance. There was no figuring the affair out. Why should these fellows, who, earlier in the evening, had been part of Delavan's wagon guard, be in ambush to waylay some rider on the Bristol road? Who was it they sought to capture? Where were they taking me, and why was I not released as soon as they discovered their mistake? These were the main questions, but there were others also arising in mind. This did not seem to me like an ordinary party of troopers; there was an offhand freedom from discipline totally unlike the British service. Neither Peter nor the Indian seemed to belong to the class with which the army was recruited. Peter appeared more like a well-trained servant, and his riding was atrocious. And the lieutenant! There came back to me the haunting memory that he had joined Delavan as a volunteer--the Dragoon uniform sufficient proof that he was neither of the original foraging party of Hessians, nor of Grant's detachment of Rangers. Yet these others wore the green and white, and must, therefore, have been in Grant's command. How did the four manage to escape from our attack, evidently animated by one purpose? Why was Grant so anxious to learn if I had seen the lieutenant, and whether we had a party out seeking him? Not one of these questions could I answer; not one could I even guess at with any degree of satisfaction.