The Argosy, Vol. XXIV, No. 1 — page 147: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE GENERAL’S EMISSARY. 147 As I turned my horse I heard the click of the other’s flintlock. But, thanks toa protecting Providence the rain had spoiled his priming. As I rode down the hill, the full effect of my loss grew upon me. What would General Washington say, when he heard of it? Andif the fact became generally known, I would be made a laughing stock in the army. I wascon- vinced now that Captain Wilson had played me false and had probably stolen the letter from my coat at the tavern while my back was turned. Wilson was undoubtedly a British spy and the wretch had put me in a pretty box. By the time I burst into the door of the tavern I was in a high state of excitement. Old Mr. Everard was seated calmly by the fire and looked round at my intrusion. ‘‘ Where is he?’’ I cried out. ‘Who? Your friend, do you mean? ’’ ‘‘My friend!’’ I shouted. ‘‘ My friend! He is a thief and a liar! Where is he?’”’ Mr. Everard looked confused. ‘‘I don’t know,”’ he replied, ‘‘I cannot tell. Helefta moment ago. My daughter sewed his coat for him and - ‘“ Where is your daughter ?’’ I interrupted. ‘“She was here a moment ago sf I did not wait to hear the rest, but rushed out into the air. I saw a man walking near the horseshed and made for him, but found that he was the stable boy. I learned from him that the man who had accompanied me, had ridden towards the south just a few seconds previous, and that a few minutes before, the young lady, Miss Everard, had ordered her horse and had gone north with ‘‘ old Brady,’’ the host. Here was a new phase of the case. Could it be possible that the young lady was the thief? No, I argued. What motive could she have for pur- loining my letter? How could she ever know that I had sucha letter? Of course these thoughts passed through my mind in much less time than it takes to write them down, and in a moment I was on my horse and dashing down the post road in pursuit of Captain Wilson. As I said before, the mud was deep, and as the horse struck out heartily through it, it often splashed as high as my head and came down in a shower. But I had no time to consider my own convenience. In fact, I was wholly absorbed with the one purpose of capturing the villain who had treated me so basely. Down a hill we went flying, and at a turn in the road I caught sight of a flying horseman ahead. Darkness was rapidly descending, but I could see that I was gaining, for each second the figure in advance assumed a more definite outline. As we rushed along I remembered the black shadow of a house at the right, but this was passed in an instant. I knew by his actions that the rider was conscious that he was being pursued, for I could see him kick his spurs into his horse’s flanks to urge him on. Suddenly the man switched round a corner, and into the lane which leads through Sparta to the river landing. I spurred on with renewed effort, fear- ing to miss my prey. But no, asI turned the corner, both horse and rider were floundering about at the summit of a slight incline. The animal was evidently in a fit, but the man was on his feet in an instant. Comiclooolks S|