"The same question might be asked of yourself," returned one of the
band, sullenly.
"From your fright, I thought a party of De Lancey's men were upon us.
Oh! you are brave gentlemen at a race!"
"We follow our captain."
"Then follow me back, and let us secure the scoundrel, and receive the
reward."
"Yes; and by the time we reach the house, that black rascal will have
the mad Virginian upon us. By my soul I would rather meet fifty Cowboys
than that single man."
"Fool," cried the enraged leader, "don't you know Dunwoodie's horse are
at the Corners, full two miles from here?"
"I care not where the dragoons are, but I will swear that I saw Captain
Lawton enter the house of old Wharton, while I lay watching an
opportunity of getting the British colonel's horse from the stable."
"And if he should come, won't a bullet silence a dragoon from the South
as well as from old England?"
"Aye, but I don't choose a hornet's nest about my ears; rase the skin of
one of that corps, and you will never see another peaceable night's
foraging again."
"Well," muttered the leader, as they retired deeper into the wood, "this
sottish peddler will stay to see the old devil buried; and though we
cannot touch him at the funeral (for that would raise every old woman
and priest in America against us), he'll wait to look after the
movables, and to-morrow night shall wind up his concerns.
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