Chapter 32 - Page 2

on the banks of the river."

"Listen!" interrupted Henry, "there are horse at this moment passing the
foot of the hill. I hear them even laughing and talking to each other.
Hist! there is the voice of Dunwoodie himself; he calls to his comrade
in a manner that shows but little uneasiness. One would think that the
situation of his friend would lower his spirits; surely Frances could
not have given him the letter."

On hearing the first exclamation of the captain, Birch arose from his
seat, and approached cautiously to the brow of the hill, taking care to
keep his body in the shadow of the rocks, so as to be unseen at any
distance, and earnestly reconnoitered the group of passing horsemen. He
continued listening, until their quick footsteps were no longer audible,
and then quietly returned to his seat, and with incomparable coolness
resumed his meal.

"You have a long walk, and a tiresome one, before you, Captain Wharton;
you had better do as I do--you were eager for food at the hut above
Fishkill, but traveling seems to have worn down your appetite."

"I thought myself safe, then, but the information of my sister fills me
with uneasiness, and I cannot eat."

"You have less reason to be troubled now than at any time since the
night before you were taken, when you refused my advice, and an offer to
see you in safety," returned the peddler. "Major Dunwoodie is not a man
to laugh and be gay when his friend is in difficulty. Come, then, and
eat, for no horse will be in our way, if we can hold our legs for four
hours longer, and the sun keeps behind the hills as long as common."

There was a composure in the peddler's manner that encouraged his
companion; and having once determined to submit to Harvey's government,
he suffered himself to be persuaded into a tolerable supper, if quantity
be considered without any reference to the quality. After completing
their repast, the peddler resumed his journey.

Henry followed in blind submission to his will. For two hours more they
struggled with the difficult and dangerous passes of the Highlands,
without road, or any other guide than the moon, which was traveling the
heavens, now wading through flying clouds, and now shining brightly. At
length they arrived at a point where the mountains sank into rough and
unequal hillocks, and passed at once from the barren sterility of the
precipices, to the imperfect culture of the neutral ground.

The peddler now became more guarded in the manner in which they
proceeded, and took divers precautions to prevent meeting any moving
parts of the Americans. With the stationary posts he was too familiar to
render it probable he might fall upon any