my feet; and then I was down by the edge of the rock fighting for my life against a murderous fury that seemed to be made entirely of whipcord and steel. For one precarious instant we struggled desperately; then I felt the heel of my boot slide on the treacherous slippery rock — there was a whirling rush — and I went hurtling through the air into a crashing greenness of pine boughs that closed over me and went black.
When I came to myself again, it was still fairly dark and the light of a full moon was flickering through the branches above me. Someone had thoughtfully removed my coat and rolled it up to make a rough pillow for my head. But when I tottered uncertainly to my feet, Peaceable Sherwood was no longer standing on the rock, and there was not even the rustle of a leaf in the forest to show which way he had gone.
It must have been almost four o'clock in the morning when I finally got back to the Shipley Farm. Somewhere a sleepy cock was beginning to crow, and all the eastern horizon was luminously green with the coming dawn. But it was still black night under the great elm trees by the porch as I let myself into the shadowy hall and went blundering towards my room in the dark.
"Dick?" said a whispering voice somewhere above my head. "Dick, is that you?"
Eleanor Shipley was coming down the wide stairway carrying a lighted candle in one hand. The glow shone on the butterfly blue of her dress, and her white throat, and the coppery glints in her hair.
"Why are you up?" I whispered back. I was so weary that my voice seemed to come from a long way off, as if it belonged to somebody else. I reached uncertainly for the newel post at the foot of the stairs and steadied myself on it. "Why are you up? Is Felton worse?"
"No, but I expected you back this afternoon, and when you didn't come and didn't come, I thought — Why, Dick!" She broke off sharply and leaned over the banister with a sudden exclamation to look down at me. "Dick, what is it? Are you hurt? Where have you been all this time? You look like death. What's the matter with you?"
I went on standing there stupidly, looking straight ahead of me, not at her, but at the little flame of the candle she was carrying. My voice when I answered her still sounded as if it was coming from a long way off. It seemed to be speaking quietly and dispassionately about another person I neither knew very well nor liked very much.
"I have been behaving like the arrogant fool that I am," the voice said. "I found out by chance today that Peaceable Sherwood was going to Duck's Head Lake to meet some of his followers. I followed him there alone instead of coming back here first to get some help. I told myself that I couldn't spare the time, and the rangers might blunder, and Felton was sick. I was only making excuses for my own pride and folly and spite. I wanted to take him singlehanded as if I were a prince in a fairy tale, and have you looking up to me at last and telling me what a wonder you thought I was."
The voice paused an instant, on a sort of painful breath, and then went on again, even more carefully than before.
"We fought, and my foot slipped because I was wearing my riding boots, like a fool, and he knocked me off the rocks and got clean away because there wasn't anyone else there to stop him. Now I don't suppose we ever will catch him. And General Washington said that I had been recommended to him as an officer with the intelligence and ability needed to carry out a very important mission. Intelligence and ability — isn't that amusing?" I turned my head a little to look up at her. "I see now why you've found me so laughable all these years."
Eleanor was not laughing. To my astonishment, her face had suddenly become a sort of blazing white, and she was so angry that there were actually tears of rage in her eyes. I had not seen her look like that since she was ten years old and flying like a fury at Johnny Tatlock for bullying a small boy much younger than he was.
When I came to myself again, it was still fairly dark and the light of a full moon was flickering through the branches above me. Someone had thoughtfully removed my coat and rolled it up to make a rough pillow for my head. But when I tottered uncertainly to my feet, Peaceable Sherwood was no longer standing on the rock, and there was not even the rustle of a leaf in the forest to show which way he had gone.
It must have been almost four o'clock in the morning when I finally got back to the Shipley Farm. Somewhere a sleepy cock was beginning to crow, and all the eastern horizon was luminously green with the coming dawn. But it was still black night under the great elm trees by the porch as I let myself into the shadowy hall and went blundering towards my room in the dark.
"Dick?" said a whispering voice somewhere above my head. "Dick, is that you?"
Eleanor Shipley was coming down the wide stairway carrying a lighted candle in one hand. The glow shone on the butterfly blue of her dress, and her white throat, and the coppery glints in her hair.
"Why are you up?" I whispered back. I was so weary that my voice seemed to come from a long way off, as if it belonged to somebody else. I reached uncertainly for the newel post at the foot of the stairs and steadied myself on it. "Why are you up? Is Felton worse?"
"No, but I expected you back this afternoon, and when you didn't come and didn't come, I thought — Why, Dick!" She broke off sharply and leaned over the banister with a sudden exclamation to look down at me. "Dick, what is it? Are you hurt? Where have you been all this time? You look like death. What's the matter with you?"
I went on standing there stupidly, looking straight ahead of me, not at her, but at the little flame of the candle she was carrying. My voice when I answered her still sounded as if it was coming from a long way off. It seemed to be speaking quietly and dispassionately about another person I neither knew very well nor liked very much.
"I have been behaving like the arrogant fool that I am," the voice said. "I found out by chance today that Peaceable Sherwood was going to Duck's Head Lake to meet some of his followers. I followed him there alone instead of coming back here first to get some help. I told myself that I couldn't spare the time, and the rangers might blunder, and Felton was sick. I was only making excuses for my own pride and folly and spite. I wanted to take him singlehanded as if I were a prince in a fairy tale, and have you looking up to me at last and telling me what a wonder you thought I was."
The voice paused an instant, on a sort of painful breath, and then went on again, even more carefully than before.
"We fought, and my foot slipped because I was wearing my riding boots, like a fool, and he knocked me off the rocks and got clean away because there wasn't anyone else there to stop him. Now I don't suppose we ever will catch him. And General Washington said that I had been recommended to him as an officer with the intelligence and ability needed to carry out a very important mission. Intelligence and ability — isn't that amusing?" I turned my head a little to look up at her. "I see now why you've found me so laughable all these years."
Eleanor was not laughing. To my astonishment, her face had suddenly become a sort of blazing white, and she was so angry that there were actually tears of rage in her eyes. I had not seen her look like that since she was ten years old and flying like a fury at Johnny Tatlock for bullying a small boy much younger than he was.
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