The troop, led by Wildfoot, numbered not more than fifty horsemen, but all were strong and wiry, and bore themselves in the easy alert manner that betokens experience, and much of it. Moreover, they were well mounted, a point of extreme importance. Marcel and I deemed ourselves fortunate to be included in such a band, and that we were high in the partisan chief's favor, we had good evidence, because before we started he brought us two exceptionally fine horses and bade us exchange our mounts for them, temporarily.

"You must do it, as you are likely to need their speed and strength," he said, when we showed reluctance, for good cavalry horses were worth their weight in silver, at least in those days, and we did not like to take the responsibility of their possible loss.

"Then you mean to give us some work, I take it," said Marcel.

"Not much to-day," replied the partisan, "as I operate best in the dark; so shall I wait until sun-down, but I hope that we shall then get through with a fair night's work."

Wildfoot's men seem to trust him absolutely. They never asked him where they were going or what they were expected to do, but followed cheerfully wherever he led. The partisan himself continued in the great good humor that had marked him when we entered Philadelphia. He sang a bit under his breath and smiled frequently. Whether he was happy over deeds achieved or others to come, I could not tell. But I saw that our duties were to be of a scouting nature, as was indicated clearly by the character of the force under his command.

We rode for a while in the track of the British army, a huge trail made by the passage of sixteen thousand troops, and a camp train twelve miles long. Many Tories, too, not fortunate enough to secure passage on the ships down the river, had followed the army, filled with panic and dreading retaliation from the triumphant patriots whom some of their kind had persecuted cruelly in the days when our fortunes were lower.

It was easy enough for us to overtake the British army, which was dragging itself painfully over the hills and across the fields. A body of fifteen or twenty thousand men can move but slowly in the best of times, and in the terrible heat which had suddenly settled down, the British forces merely crept towards New York. Soon we saw their red coats and shining arms through the trees, and heard the murmur of the thousands. However we bore off to one side, passing out of sight, and made a wide curve, apparently for the purpose of examining the country, and to see whether the British had sent out skirmishing or foraging parties. But we saw neither, and shortly after sunset our curve brought us back to the enemy's army, which had gone into camp for the night, their fires flaring redly against the background of the darkness. We stopped upon the crest of a little hill, from which we could see the camp very well and sat there for a few minutes, watching. Being in the darkness we were invisible, but many blazing heaps of wood shed their light over the hostile army.

"They seem to be taking their ease," said Wildfoot. "It ought not to be allowed, but we will not disturb them for the present."

Then he withdrew our men about a mile, and, halting them in a thick wood, ordered them to eat of the food in their knapsacks. But Marcel and me he summoned to go with him on a little journey that he purposed to take.

"We shall not be gone more than an hour or two," he said, "and we will find the men waiting for us here when we come back."

We curved again as we rode away. In truth, we had been making so many curves that it was hard for me to retain any idea of direction. In a half hour we saw a light, and then the house from which it came, a low but rather large building of heavy logs, standing in a small clearing in the forest.

Wildfoot had not spoken since we left the other men, and as he seemed to be in deep thought we did not interrupt him with vain questions, merely following him as he rode quietly into the thickest part of the woods behind the house. When he slipped from his horse there, we did likewise, and waited to see what he would do next.

"We will tie our horses here," he said. "No one will see them, and as they are old campaigners, they are too well trained to make a noise."

Again we imitated his example, and tethered our horses to the boughs of trees.

"Now," said Wildfoot, when that was done, "we will call on a lady."

The moon was shining a little, and I thought I saw a faint smile on his face. I was full of curiosity, and Marcel beside me uttered a little exclamation. The name of woman was always potent with this South Carolina Frenchman; but we said nothing, content, perforce, to be silent and wait.

"She is not so handsome as Miss Mary Desmond," continued Wildfoot, smiling again a little, and this time at me. "Few are; but as she finds no fault with it herself, none other should."

But Marcel had begun to brush his uniform with his hands, and settle the handsome sword, which was his proudest adornment, a little more rakishly by his side.

We walked to the door and knocked, and when some one within wished to know in a strong voice who was there, Wildfoot responded with a question.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

"Yes," said the voice. "Who is it?"

"Wildfoot and two friends."

The door was opened at once, and we entered, beholding a woman who seemed to be the sole occupant of the house. At least none other was visible.

"I hope you are well, mother," said Wildfoot, and the woman nodded.

But I saw at once that she was no mother of his, although old enough. She, too, was large and powerful, almost masculine in build, but there was no similarity whatever in the features.

"Lieutenant Chester and Lieutenant Marcel of the American army, good friends of mine and trusted comrades," said Wildfoot, "and this, gentlemen," he continued to us, "is Mother Melrose, as loyal a patriot as you can find in the Thirteen Colonies, and one who has passed many a good bit of information from the British army in Philadelphia on to those who needed it most. Mother, can't you find us something to eat while we talk?"

The woman looked pleased with his praise, and speedily put upon a table substantial food, which we attacked with the zest that comes of hard riding. Yet from the first I studied the room and the woman with curiosity and interest.

The note of Mother Melrose's manner and air was self-reliance. She walked like a grenadier, and her look said very plainly that she feared few things. She must have been at least sixty, and perhaps was never beautiful. I surmised, from the complete understanding so evidently existing between her and Wildfoot, that she helped him in his forays, warning him of hostile expeditions, sending him news of wagon trains that could be cut off, and otherwise serving the cause. There were many such brave women who gave us great aid in this war. But I wondered at a fortitude that could endure such a lonely and dangerous life.

"Do you know that the British army is encamped near you, mother?" asked Wildfoot, as we drank a little wine that she brought from a recess, probably captured by Wildfoot himself from some wagon train.

"I know it," she replied, her old eyes lifting up, "and glory be to God, they have been forced to run away from Philadelphia at last!"

She passed presently into a rear room which seemed to be a kitchen, and Marcel said:—

"A fine patriot, but has she no sons, nobody to help her here and to protect her, maybe?"

"She can protect herself well enough," replied Wildfoot, "and there is nobody else in this house except a serving lad, who, I suspect, is in the kitchen helping himself to a little extra supper. But she has sons, three of them. They're in our business, and far away from here."

"Three for the cause," I commented. "That is doing well."

"Two fight for the Congress and one for the king," said Wildfoot. "The one who serves the king is her youngest and best beloved. Nothing can change that, although, as far as her power goes, the king has no greater opponent than she."

"Strange!" said Marcel.

But it did not seem so very strange to me.

The woman was coming back, and I looked at her with deeper respect than ever. We talked a little more, and Wildfoot's questions disclosed that his object in coming to the house was to see if she had any better information than he had been able to pick up. But she could tell him of no hostile party that he might cut off.

Our conversation was ended suddenly by a shock of red hair thrust in at the door, and a voice, coming from somewhere behind the red hair, announcing that some one was coming. It was the serving boy who gave us the timely warning.

"It must be the enemy," said Wildfoot. "No Americans except ours are near here, and they would not come contrary to my express order. How many are they, Timothy?"

"Three men on horseback, and they are British," replied Timothy.

"You can go out the back way and escape into the forest without any trouble," said the woman.

"I don't know that we want to escape," replied Wildfoot, "especially as we are three to three. Neither are we looking for a skirmish just now; so, by your permission, mother, we will step into the next room, and wait for your new guests to disclose themselves."

Mother Melrose offered no objection, and we entered a room adjoining the one in which we had been eating. It was unlighted, but the house seemed to have been a sort of country inn in more peaceful times, and this apartment into which we had just come, was the parlor.

"Leave the door ajar an inch or two, that we may see," said Wildfoot, and the woman obeyed. A minute later there was a heavy knock, as if whoever came, came with confidence. Mother Melrose opened the door in an unconcerned manner, as if such knocks were a common occurrence at her house, and three British officers entered, that is, two were Englishmen, and the third was a Hessian. The faces of the Englishmen were young, open, and attractive, but that of the Hessian I did not like. We did not dislike the English officers in this war, who were mostly honest men serving the cause of their country; but we did hate the Hessians, who were mere mercenaries, besides being more cruel than the British, and when I say "hate," I use the word with emphasis.

They, too, seemed to have taken the place for a sort of country inn, and sat down at the table from which Mother Melrose had hastily cleared the dishes of our own supper.

"Can't you give us something to eat, mistress?" asked one of the Englishmen. "We are tired of camp fare, and we pay gold."

"Provisions are scarce," replied Mother Melrose; "but I am willing to do my best, because you travel in such haste that I may never have another chance to serve you."

"She has pricked you very neatly, Osborne," laughed the other Englishman, "but I am free to confess that we would travel faster if the weather were not so deucedly hot. We don't have such a Tophet of a summer in England, and I'm glad of it. Any rebels about, mistress?"

It was the merest chance shot, as we were ahead of the British army rather than behind it, and we were not expected in this quarter; but Mother Melrose never flinched. "No, you are safe," she replied.

"That's for you, Hunston," said Osborne, laughing in his turn, "but I would have you to know, good mistress, that we are giving up Philadelphia to your great Mr. Washington out of kindness, pure kindness. He starved and froze, out there at Valley Forge, so long that we thought he needed a change and city comforts, and as there is plenty of room for all of ours in New York, we concluded,—and again I say it was out of the kindness of our souls,—to give him Philadelphia."

"Well, the Lord loveth a cheerful giver," said Mother Melrose, with unction.

Both Englishmen laughed again, and with great heartiness. Evidently they were men who knew that life was worth living, and were not prone to grieve over evils unbefallen. I was sorry that I could not laugh with them. There was no smile on the face of the ill-favored Hessian. His eyes wandered about the room, but he seemed to have no suspicion. I took it that his sour temper was the result of chronic discontent.

"What ails you, Steinfeldt?" asked Osborne. "Why don't you look happy? Isn't the hospitality of the house all that you wish?"

"Haven't you any wine?" asked Steinfeldt. "I can't drink the cursed drinks of this country, cider and such stuff! faugh!"

Mother Melrose produced the same bottle from which she had poured wine for us, and filled the glasses.

"That's better," said Steinfeldt. "Fill them again, can't you?" His eyes began to sparkle, and his face to flush. It was easy to tell his master passion. But Mother Melrose filled the glasses again, and then a third time, producing a second bottle. The house was better stocked than I had thought it could possibly be. Steinfeldt's temper began to improve under the influence of the liquor, and he grew talkative. Evidently Mother Melrose's taunt about the British evacuation of Philadelphia rankled in his mind, though the two Englishmen themselves had passed it off easily enough.

"We will come back," he said. "You don't imagine that we will let Mr. Washington keep Philadelphia long?"

"I don't think he will ask you about it," replied Mother Melrose.

"It's too good a country to give up," continued Steinfeldt, "and we must keep it. It is rich land, and the women are fair. The men may not want us; but the women do."

One of the Englishmen angrily bade him be silent; but the wine was in his blood.

"But the women do want us, don't they?" he repeated to Mother Melrose.

She lifted her hand, which was both large and muscular, and slapped him in the face. It was no light blow, the crack of it was like that of a pistol-shot, and Steinfeldt reeled in his chair, the blood leaping to his cheeks.

"Damnation!" he cried, springing to his feet, and snatching his sword from its scabbard.

"Steinfeldt, stop!" cried Osborne, "you cannot cut down a woman."

"I wish you were a man," said the Hessian to Mother Melrose, "then you'd have to fight for that."

"Don't trouble yourself about my not being a man," said she, coolly. "I'll fight you any way."

One of the Englishmen had hung his sword and belt on the back of his chair while he ate, and, to my unbounded surprise, Mother Melrose stepped forward, took the sword, and putting herself in the attitude of a genuine fencing-master, faced the German. I was about to make a movement, but Wildfoot put a restraining hand on my shoulder. His other hand was on Marcel's shoulder.

"Madame, what do you mean?" asked Osborne.

"The gentleman seems to be angry, and I am the cause of his anger, so I offer him satisfaction," she replied. "He need not hesitate. I am probably a much better swordsman than he."

Steinfeldt's face flushed. He raised his weapon, and the two swords clashed together. But we did not intend that the matter should go farther, and we stepped into the room just as the Englishmen also moved forward to interfere.

Their surprise was intense, but they drew weapons promptly. Marcel, whose blood was hotter than mine or Wildfoot's, raised his hand as a signal to be quiet.

"Since the German gentleman wants to have satisfaction, he ought to have it," he said, "and since he has insulted the women of our country, we also want the satisfaction which we ought to have. If the quarrel is not handsomely made up, I never heard of one that was. I'll take Mother Melrose's place."

The woman put the sword on the table, and stepped aside, content with the way affairs were going. The Englishmen looked dubiously at us.

"Why not?" asked Wildfoot.

His query seemed pertinent to me. According to the military law, all of us ought to fight; but since we would make a most unpleasant muss in the house it was best that a champion of each side should meet. It was proper, too, that Marcel should be our man, since he was a better swordsman than I. Wildfoot was our leader, and it was not fitting for him to take the risk.

"Why not?" continued Wildfoot. "I may tell you, gentlemen, that I have a large party near, and perhaps I could get help in time to make you prisoners, but I assure you that the affair would interfere with other and more important plans of mine. You would much better let them fight."

The Englishmen whispered together a moment or two.

"Let it be as you propose," said Osborne.

Their eyes began to sparkle, and I saw that the love of sport, inherent in all Englishmen, was aroused. Marcel and Steinfeldt faced each other and raised their swords. I was astonished at the animosity showing in the eyes of these two men who had never seen each other until a few minutes ago and who had no real cause of quarrel. Yet they seemed to me at that moment to typify their two races which, since then, and in these Napoleonic times, have come into such antagonism. Still it would not be right to say that I care more for the French than for the Germans, although Marcel, who was of French descent, was my fast friend. I have no great admiration for the faults of either race.

Steinfeldt was the larger and apparently the stronger of the two; but Marcel was more compact and agile, and I felt confident of his success. They crossed swords, testing each other's attack and defence, and then began to fight in earnest, their eyes gleaming, their faces hot, and their breath coming short and hard. A candle on a table cast a dim light, and shadows flickered on the floor.

The German was no bad swordsman, and the influence of the wine had passed. At first he pressed Marcel back with fierce and rapid thrusts, and for a moment I was alarmed for my friend. Then I saw that Marcel's face was calm, and his figure seemed to gather strength. My eyes passed on to Mother Melrose; but she stood, impassive, against the wall, silently watching the swordsmen. A red head appeared at the kitchen door, and there was the serving lad following the contest with staring eyes. As for myself, I was uneasy. I did not like the situation; it seemed to me irregular, and we might be interrupted at any time by a force of the enemy. Yet I reasoned with myself that I should not be disturbed when Wildfoot, who was a veteran, seemed not to be, and I soon forgot my scruples in the ring of steel and the joy of combat that rose in my blood, as it had risen in that of the Englishmen.

The Hessian paused a little, seeming to feel that he had been too violent in the beginning, and I noticed that his breath had shortened. Marcel, whose back was against the wall, feinted, and followed up the feint with a thrust, quick as lightning. But the Hessian had no mean skill, and he turned aside the blade which flashed by his arm with a soft sound like scissors snipping through cloth. His coat-sleeve was laid open and the flesh grazed.

"He guards well," said one of the Englishmen, nodding towards Steinfeldt.

The Hessian heard the remark, and it seemed to give him new strength. His sword became a beam of light, and he thrust so straight at Marcel's breast that I held my breath in fear; but my comrade was quick, and the blade, caught on his own, flashed harmlessly by.

"Well fought; well fought, by Pollux!" exclaimed the Englishman Osborne. "This is worth seeing."

The duellists were now almost in the centre of the room, and they paused a moment for breath. I knew, by the compression of their lips, that each was preparing for his greatest effort, and we were silent, awaiting the issue.

The sword play began again, and the weapons rang across each other. The heavy breathing of the combatants sounded distinctly, and the soft beat of their footsteps, as they shifted about the room, made a light, sliding noise, like the restless tread of wild animals in a cage.

The Hessian's sword passed close to Marcel's side, cutting his coat; but when Marcel's blade flashed in return, it came back with blood upon it. The keen edge had passed along the Hessian's wrist, leaving a red thread.

The cut was not deep, but it had a sting to it, and Steinfeldt shut his teeth hard. Marcel's sword was now making lines of light about him, and the Hessian's part in the combat soon became a defence only. He was pressed back, an inch or two at a time, but without cessation. Then I saw the great skill of my comrade. His lips were shut tight, but his eyes remained calm and confident, and the sword seemed to have become a part of himself, so truly did it obey his will.

The Hessian's face slowly darkened, and the light in his eyes, that had been the light of anger and defiance, became the light of fear. And it was the fear of death. He read nothing else in the gleaming blade and calm look of the man before him. Two or three drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

"Bad, bad! Steinfeldt has lost!" I heard the Englishman Osborne say under his breath.

I studied Marcel's face, but I could not discover his intentions there. That he carried the Hessian's life on the point of his sword, everyone in the room now knew, and the Hessian himself knew it best of all. But Steinfeldt had courage, I give him all credit for that, whatever else he may have been. A man must be brave to fight on, in the face of what he knows is certain death.

Back went the Hessian, closer and closer to the wall, and always before him was the calm, unsmiling face and gleaming sword that whistled so near and threatened every moment to strike a mortal blow. The suspense became unbearable. I felt like crying out: "Have done and end such a game," and I bit my lip to enforce my own silence.

The Hessian's back suddenly touched the wall, and the sword of Marcel flashed a second time along his wrist, leaving another red thread beside the first. Then it flashed back again, and the weapon of the Hessian, drawn from his hand, fell clattering on the floor.

The defenceless man stood as if he expected a stroke; but I knew that Marcel would never give it. He thrust his own sword into its scabbard, bowed to his opponent with the easy and graceful politeness that he loved, and turned to us as if awaiting our will. I have often wondered where Marcel got that manner of his, and I have concluded that it came from his French blood.

"Take your friend and go," said Wildfoot to the Englishmen. "He is not hurt much, and it is time for all of us to rejoin our commands."

The Englishmen hesitated, as if it were not right for official enemies, in the height of a hot campaign, to part in such a manner. In truth, it was not, but Wildfoot had a set of military rules peculiarly his own, and was not called to account for anything that he might do.

Their hesitation ceased quickly, and each taking an arm of Steinfeldt, they hurried with him out of the room, not neglecting, however, to give us a farewell salute. But they forgot to take Steinfeldt's sword, and Marcel, picking it up, said that he would keep it as a remembrance.

"You must admit that Lieutenant Marcel made a good substitute for you," said Wildfoot, turning to Mother Melrose.

"None could have been better, but I might have beaten the Hessian myself," she replied sturdily. "My husband was a great swordsman and he taught me."

It was now our turn to go, and we bade this remarkable old woman good-night. She showed no signs of fear and was already wiping from the floor the drops of blood that had fallen from Steinfeldt's wrist.

We secured our horses again, and sprang upon their backs. I heard a faint sound like a laugh, and saw a broad smile on the face of Wildfoot.

"I did not expect to see such fine sport when we went to the house," he said.

The ranger obviously was enjoying himself. Events like this pleased his wild and energetic nature. I saw that he was in truth a man of the forests and the night and war, and loved danger.

"Aside from the risk of a fight with them, I did not wish to hold those Englishmen," he continued. "Although they are not likely to report the full and exact facts of our meeting, they will say, when they rejoin their army, that the American forces are in the vicinity, and that is what I wish the British to know. Unless you are planning a secret attack, it is important to keep the enemy worried, to let him think that you are everywhere, and it will exhaust his strength and patience. Growing tired, he will do something rash and costly."

I understood Wildfoot's logic; but I wondered what would be his next movement, waiting, however, as usual, to let the deed disclose itself. We rejoined our men, who were resting in the wood undisturbed, and all rode on another circuit.