(Maryland, 1684)

I

"I'm riding south to St. Mary's to-morrow, Michael," said George Talbot. He gave his horse a slap on the flank that sent it toward the stable. "Want to come with me, and see something of the Bay?"

"Yes indeed," said Michael Rowan. "You know, Mr. George, I always like to ride with you."

Talbot smiled at the red-cheeked boy, whose black hair and blue eyes gave proof of his Irish blood. "You're loyal to the chief of the clan, aren't you, Michael? Well, if I were warden of the Scottish marches I wouldn't ask for better followers than such as you."

Michael flushed. "My father has taught me always to do your bidding, Mr. George. It seems to me the right thing to do."

"I hope it always will. There's some who don't think as well of me as your father does." Talbot slapped his riding-whip against his boot. "But we don't care what they think, do we? A fig for all critics, I say! Each man to his own salvation!" He went up the steps to his house, while Michael watched him with frank admiration.

George Talbot, Irish by birth, was a prominent man in the province that belonged to Lord Baltimore. He was a kinsman of Sir William Talbot, who was Chief Secretary of Maryland. George had obtained a large grant of land on the Susquehanna River, when Lord Baltimore was anxious to have the northern part of his province settled. Three years after he staked out his plantation on the Susquehanna he was made surveyor-general of the province. That was in 1683. The next year Lord Baltimore went to England, leaving his son, a boy, as nominal governor. A commission of leading men was chosen to take charge of the actual work of the governorship, and George Talbot was at the head of the commission. In much of that sparsely-settled country he ruled like the chieftain of a Scottish clan. He built a fort near the head of Chesapeake Bay; garrisoned it with Irish followers, and sometimes set out from it with his troop to check Indian raids; sometimes rode into the land that was in dispute between Lord Baltimore and William Penn, and lectured or bullied or drove away some of Penn's settlers. He ruled with a high hand, both at his fort and on his plantation, with the usual result that he was tremendously admired by his retainers, among whom was Fergus Rowan, the father of Talbot's young squire Michael.

Next day the adventurous Talbot and the faithful Michael set out south. They rode through a country almost as untouched by men as it was before the first white explorers landed on its coast. Then there had been Indians to hunt game in its woods and marshes; to fish its streams and bay, to plant their crops in its open arable fields. But the Indians were like the birds and beasts, essentially migratory; they built few permanent homes, they wasted little labor on bridges or mills, clearings or farm-stockades. When the hunting or the crops grew poor in one place they packed their tents on their ponies or in their canoes and set out for a new, untouched country. The white men were very different; they wanted to own, to fence off, to build, to make travel and commerce easier. But in 1684 there were so few of them that one might ride all day and see no sign of a human habitation. Talbot and Michael had to hunt the streams for fording-places, had to push through underbrush that threatened to hide the trails, and to rely on the provisions they carried in their saddle-bags to furnish them food and drink.

Every now and then the riders caught sight of the blue waters of Chesapeake Bay to the east. Whenever they reached a farmhouse in the wilderness they stopped and chatted with the settlers, giving them any news from the north. They spent one night at a hunter's log cabin; another at a miller's house built on the bank of a river. Many times they had to go far out of the route as the crow flies in order to cross wide estuaries and streams. But they were in no particular haste, and rested their horses often. It took them the better part of a week to reach the Patuxent River and cross into St. Mary's County.

Many small fishing-hamlets were to be found along this southern shore of Chesapeake Bay, and Talbot stopped at each one, announced who he was, and questioned the fishermen for news. The chief complaint of the settlers was against the tyrannical manners and methods of the revenue-collectors, or excisemen, who levied taxes for the king of England on all goods coming into the province or going out of it. Men who collect such taxes have almost always been unpopular; in Maryland they were pretty generally hated. To judge from what Talbot was told by the fishermen some of the collectors had acted as if they were Lord Baltimore himself. They took horses, servants, boats, as they pleased, and dared the owners to complain of them to the king. The most unpopular of the race of collectors appeared to be Christopher Rousby, who lived at the town of St. Mary's, and made trips up and down St. Mary's River and along the shores of the bay to collect taxes from unwilling settlers and threaten them with dire punishments if they dared refuse obedience to his orders.

"The knave ought to be whipped!" Talbot declared to Michael, as they left one of the hamlets. "I know him, an arrogant, conceited fool! It's fortunate I'm not one of these folk here, or I might run him through some dark night."

Down to St. Mary's they rode, where Talbot took lodgings for himself and Michael. The lodgings were at a tavern known as "The Bell and Anchor," where a great anchor lay on the lawn before the tavern door and a bell hung over the porch, used by the wife of the tavern-keeper to inform her guests when their meals were ready for them. The inn faced St. Mary's River, which was wide here, and the beach in front of it was a gathering-place for sailors and fishermen and longshoremen, whose boats were pulled up on the sand or anchored in the small harbor to the south of the town. Talbot and Michael went among the men, the chieftain hobnobbing with the simple folk, as he was fond of doing, though he never allowed them to forget his dignity.

There were ships lying in St. Mary's River, one of them a ketch belonging to His Majesty's navy. Men on the beach told Talbot and Michael that the captain of the ketch was very friendly with Christopher Rousby, the tax-collector, and the other excisemen. They also told Talbot that neither the captain of the ketch nor Rousby nor his mates paid any attention to Lord Baltimore's officers in St. Mary's. The former treated the latter as if they were stable-boys, made to be ordered about, the longshoremen told Talbot.

At first Talbot only listened and swore under his breath. Then he began to swear openly, and to look angry and shake his fist at the royal ship out in the bay. "These dogs of sea-captains and tax-collectors think they own the whole province!" he muttered to Michael. "I'd like nothing better than to teach them a lesson!"

The man and boy happened to be standing near the door of "The Bell and Anchor" when a long-boat landed passengers from the ketch, and the captain and Christopher Rousby and two other men came up to the tavern door. All four men glanced at Talbot, whose bearing and dress made him a conspicuous figure. He gave them a curt nod. The captain and one of the other men acknowledged his greeting, but Rousby strode past him with a shrug of the shoulders and a sneer on his lips.

George Talbot was not used to such treatment; when he gave a man a nod he expected at least a bow in return. Hot blood flushed his cheeks, and his fingers gripped the hilt of the hunting-knife he wore at his belt. Michael could not hear what he murmured, but he could guess at what he meant. Michael grew angry too; he expected people to treat his master with as much deference as they would show the king.

The four men went into the tavern, and soon Michael caught the sound of a drinking song. To get away from the noise Talbot and his page walked up the street. Presently they met the chief magistrate of St. Mary's, who recognized George Talbot, and greeted him, as was proper, by taking off his hat and making a low bow.

"Things go badly here, Mr. Talbot," said the magistrate, with a shake of his head. "The captain of that ship yonder and the collectors laugh at Lord Baltimore. They do what they will with me and my men. They sit in the tavern all night, carousing, and then they take any boats they see or anything they like, and threaten the owners with their pistols and His Majesty's vengeance if they dare object. I've gone to see them about it. They snap their fingers at me and the governor."

"I've seen the brutes," said Talbot. "I think I'd best take it on myself to explain the matter to them."

"Be careful," warned the other. "They think themselves above all the law of the province."

"By Heaven, they're not above me!" ejaculated Talbot. "I'll tell Rousby so to his face, and let him take the consequences!"

Talbot and Michael went back to "The Bell and Anchor." The singing was still going on. The man and boy went into the tap-room, and ordered two cups of ale. They sat at a small table in a corner, some distance from where the four men were drinking, laughing, and singing. This was no time for Talbot to speak to them; their wits were too befuddled to pay any heed to what he might have to say.

Presently the man and boy went up to their rooms. The noise of the revelers reached their ears. Talbot was very angry. He told Michael that he should have a settlement with Christopher Rousby the next day. So loud was the noise down-stairs that Michael had to pull the bedclothes up about his head in order to get to sleep.

The next day was cold and dark—early winter. Talbot spent the morning going from house to house, questioning each owner as to unjust taxes that Rousby had collected, or any other injury the collector had done. He made a note of each complaint, and by noon he had a long list.

The two dined at the tavern, and afterward Talbot engaged a fisherman to row them out to the royal ketch in the river. Rain was falling now, and a wind had sprung up. Whitecaps dotted the water. The fisherman rowed them to the ship, and Talbot and Michael climbed up the rope-ladder that hung down over the side. A sailor stepped up to them. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I want to see the captain and Christopher Rousby," said Talbot. "I'm told that Rousby came out to the ship this morning."

"Aye, Mr. Rousby's still here," said the sailor.

"I am George Talbot," announced the other man, and, as if that were sufficient warrant for him to do as he chose, he walked across the deck and went down the companionway to the cabin. Michael kept close behind him.

A bottle and glasses stood on the cabin table. The captain, Christopher Rousby, and an officer of the ship sprawled in chairs. Rousby's face was red and bloated. At sight of George Talbot he smiled, but made no motion to get up from his chair.

Talbot didn't take off his hat or cloak, though both were wet with rain and spray. He stepped to the table and leaned on it with one hand, while he pointed his other gloved hand at the insolent-looking tax-collector. "You know who I am," said Talbot, in his deep, positive voice, "and I know who you are. I am chief of the deputy governors Lord Baltimore has appointed to care for his province during his absence; and you are a tax-collector."

"A representative of His Majesty the King of England," said the captain of the ship, as if to make out that his friend Rousby was a more important man.

"Let the fellow talk," said Rousby to the captain. "I've heard he was clever at making speeches."

His tone and manner were the height of insult. Talbot's face flushed, and Michael saw that his hand on the table doubled itself into a fist.

"Yes, I will talk," said Talbot, in a voice that could have been heard on deck. "And you will listen to me, whether you want to or no! I have a list of unjust taxes you've levied here in St. Mary's. The Devil only knows how many you've levied elsewhere." He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the list he had made.

"I'll not listen to such speech on my own ship," said the captain, his hands on the arms of his chair as if he was about to stand up.

"Indeed you will!" roared Talbot. "This list is a list of crimes committed by your friend Christopher Rousby, representative of His Majesty the King of England in the province of Maryland." He opened the list and began to read the items, giving the names of the men in St. Mary's who had been unjustly taxed and the amount they had been forced to pay to the greedy collector.

The three men at the table grew restless; Rousby picked up his glass and drained it, the captain drummed on the arm of his chair with his fingers, the third man stared at the cabin-ceiling.

Talbot went on with his reading until he had finished the first page and turned to the second. Then Rousby broke in. "You can read all night," said he, "but I tell you now that all those taxes stand, and I'll collect more in future as pleases me."

"Even if you know they're illegal and unjust?" asked Talbot.

"Look you here," said Rousby, leaning forward. "The fact that I collect them makes them both legal and just. I am the law hereabouts, and I do as I please. If you don't like it, ride back to your own plantation, and leave matters here to your betters." His small bloodshot eyes sneered at Talbot.

Now Talbot's Irish blood was very quick and fiery. That word "betters" stung him, the look on Rousby's face infuriated him. "I don't admit any betters," said he. "In fact I only see inferiors before me." His voice was cold as steel, and as biting. Michael had never heard him speak like that before.

Rousby and the captain started to their feet.

"Keep out of this, you!" Talbot roared at the captain, and leaning across the table gave him such a push that he set him down in his chair. Then Talbot's gloved hand struck Rousby on the cheek. "Take that!" he cried. "If you want to settle the matter now, I'm ready!"

Rousby bellowed with rage. He gave the table a shove that sent it flying, and his fist shot out at Talbot. Talbot caught it and whirled the man around. Then Rousby grabbed the dagger he wore at his side and rushed at Talbot with it. Talbot stepped to one side, and the same instant drew his own knife. Rousby swung round at him again, dagger uplifted; but Talbot was the quicker. He struck with his knife, in the breast, pressed Rousby back and back until he leaned on the table.

It had all happened in the twinkling of an eye. Now the captain and the third man sprang forward. Each caught one of Talbot's arms and held it They were too late to save the collector, however. Talbot had stabbed him in the heart, and Christopher Rousby was dead.

The captain seized a pistol from a rack and leveled it at Talbot. "Drop your knife!" he ordered, "and surrender to His Majesty's officers! This is bad business for you! Murder of a royal agent!"

Talbot dropped the knife. "At your orders," he said. "I yield as your prisoner."

"I Yield as Your Prisoner"

The other man caught up a rope and soon had the prisoner's hands bound behind him.

"Take him up on deck," said the captain. "And send two of the sailors down here to me."

The other officer marched Talbot up the companionway. Michael followed. On deck the officer stepped away from his prisoner long enough to speak to one of the sailors. While he was doing this Talbot whispered to Michael. "Get ashore," he whispered, "and tell the magistrate at St. Mary's what has happened. Then get word if you can to Sir William Talbot and to my wife."

It was dark on deck, a murky evening. Michael slipped over to the side of the ship, found the rope-ladder, and crawled down it to where the fisherman was still waiting in his boat. He didn't like to leave his master in the hands of his enemies, but he knew that Talbot wanted to be obeyed.

"Mr. Talbot is going to stay on board," Michael said to the boatman. "You're to row me to shore."

A little later he landed at St. Mary's. He was soaking wet and very cold, but he gave no thought to that.

II

Michael Rowan asked the boatman where the chief magistrate of St. Mary's lived, and, on being directed, went straight to the latter's house. To this man he told what had happened in the cabin of the ketch, how Rousby and Talbot had had a quarrel, how high words had passed between them, how Talbot had stabbed the tax-collector, and was now the captain's prisoner. The magistrate was very much alarmed.

"There's no knowing what they'll do to him!" he exclaimed with excitement. "Rousby treated us ill, there's no doubting that. But he was His Majesty's exciseman, and the killing of such, even in a righteous quarrel, is a mighty bad business! What's the captain going to do with Mr. Talbot?"

"I know no more about it than you," said Michael. "My master bade me give you the true account of what happened, and then told me to ride north to tell Mistress Talbot and help her rouse his friends to do what they could for him. You see he's kinsman to Sir William Talbot, and Sir William is nephew to Lord Baltimore."

The magistrate shook his head. "That might be of some avail if this affair concerned the province of Maryland alone," said he. "But Rousby was one of His Majesty's officers,—there's the difficulty."

"I must get my horse and start at once," declared Michael.

The magistrate went to "The Bell and Anchor" with Michael, helped him put bread and cheese in his saddle-bags, saw him mount his horse, and waved his hand as Michael set out up the village street. When the magistrate went to the water-front he learned that the ketch had weighed anchor and sailed to the south.

The night was cold and wet, and the road was dark and hard to follow; but Michael put his horse to the gallop and rode recklessly. His one thought was to reach Talbot's plantation on the Susquehanna as quickly as he could.

He rode until it grew so dark that he could not see to avoid overhanging boughs and holes in the road. Then he stopped at the next farmer's cabin, asked for a night's lodging, and was given a place to sleep before the hearth. At dawn he was off again, following the rude trail through the wilderness, making his meals from the food in his saddle-bags, and only stopping when he felt he must rest his horse.

That night he spent in a hunter's lodge, the next at a log house on the edge of a small village. He told the people who asked his business that he was on an errand for George Talbot, but he gave them no inkling of what the errand was.

He remembered the fords they had found on their journey south, and sought them again without much loss of time. Presently he came into country that he knew well, the upper shores of Chesapeake Bay where he had often ridden and hunted. Then he saw the familiar landmarks of Talbot's plantation, and was riding up the road to the door of the manor-house. He had pushed his horse to the utmost; he himself was tired and aching in every sinew and muscle. Late in the afternoon he threw himself from his mount and ran up the steps. He opened the main door and walked into the living-room, a muddy, bedraggled figure.

Mrs. Talbot was sitting at a spinet, a luxury brought out to Maryland from England. She stopped her playing and looked up as Michael entered. She saw he had important news. "What is it, Michael?" she asked.

He told her what had happened. She listened without interrupting him. Then she stood up. "Send your father and Edward Nigel to me at once," she said.

Michael went to his father's house, only a short distance from the big house, and then to the cabin of Edward Nigel. He gave each of them the message of Mrs. Talbot. Then he stabled the horse that had carried him so well all the way from St. Mary's. By that time the boy was too tired and sleepy even to taste the food that his mother had set out for him. He fell into his bed and was sound asleep.

Mrs. Talbot had great strength of character. She told her husband's two faithful Irish retainers that their master was now a prisoner, charged with the murder of a royal tax-collector. She said that they must set to work at once to see what could be done to aid him. She wrote out messages, one for Rowan to take immediately to influential friends in Baltimore City, the other for Nigel to carry to Annapolis. Then, when the two had set out, she and her maid prepared to journey to Baltimore City next day.

In a very short time the news had spread through the province. Men of influence, the members of the provincial council, met and took action in behalf of George Talbot. They had all disliked Rousby and the other royal excisemen, and almost all of them were close friends of the prisoner. The council sent messengers south to find out what the captain of the ketch had done with Talbot. The messengers returned with word that Talbot had been put in irons, that the captain had landed him in Virginia, and delivered him over to the governor, Lord Howard of Effingham, who had put him in prison at a small town on the Rappahannock River.

Lord Howard of Effingham had the name of being a greedy and tyrannical governor. The council of Maryland sent a request to him that Talbot should be tried by a court in Maryland. Lord Howard treated the request with contempt, saying that he meant to try Talbot himself, since the latter had killed one of His Majesty's officers, and he represented His Majesty in that part of the country. Talbot's friends knew what that meant. If Lord Howard sat in judgment on him Talbot's fate was sealed. There was a chance that a huge bribe might influence the governor of Virginia, but the chance was slim. So the council sent a messenger to Lord Baltimore in England, urging him to rescue his nephew's kinsman from Lord Howard's clutches.

Mrs. Talbot had done all she could through the council and other men of influence to help her husband, and their efforts seemed likely to bear very small results. Meantime Lord Howard of Effingham might decide to try George Talbot at any time. So the devoted wife determined to see what she could do herself. She had several long talks with Edward Nigel and Fergus and Michael Rowan, and they worked out a scheme for themselves.

On a cold day in the middle of winter a little skiff set sail from the landing-place at Talbot's plantation and headed for Chesapeake Bay. In the skiff were Mrs. Talbot, her two friends and retainers, Nigel and Rowan, and the faithful Michael. Fergus Rowan was a skilful sailor; he knew the river and the bay from long experience. He took the tiller, and the others, muffled up for protection from the high wind, watched water and shore as their little boat bobbed up and down on the waves.

The wind was favoring, and they made much better time than they would have done by riding through the wilderness. They spent the night at a small fishing-village, and were off again in the skiff next day. They sailed past Annapolis, on the River Severn, and went scudding down the bay to where the broad waters of the Potomac flowed into it. Rowan kept fairly close to the shore on their right, and presently changed his course to the west. Now they had come to the Rappahannock, and were sailing up it, keeping a close watch for a good place to land.

By night they had run into a little creek and made the skiff fast. A farmer's house was not far away, and the four headed for it. Fergus knocked on the door, and when a woman opened it he explained that they had expected to sail to a plantation farther up the Rappahannock, but that the darkness made navigation dangerous for one who was unfamiliar with the river. "There's a lady and three of us men," he said, "would be thankful for a night's lodging." Mrs. Talbot pushed back her fur hood, and the farmer's wife, looking at her, saw that she appeared to be of the quality, as the saying was, and invited them to step in.

The cabin was small; Fergus and Nigel and Michael shared the attic with the farmer, Jonas Dunham, while Mrs. Talbot was taken into Mrs. Dunham's room. They ate their supper on a table close to the kitchen hearth for warmth. Afterward Fergus inquired about the plantations farther up the river. Presently he chanced to say that he understood that the governor was holding Mr. Talbot of Maryland a prisoner somewhere in the neighborhood. That remark, innocently made, started Farmer Dunham's tongue to wagging. He said that the prison was about two miles distant, on the southern side of the river, and that it was true that Talbot was kept there. He made it pretty clear from what he said that the governor was not very popular along the Rappahannock, and that in his opinion Talbot had done a good job in killing one of the royal tax-collectors.

Mrs. Talbot and Fergus and Nigel each carried a bag of gold pieces, all that they had been able to gather in Maryland; and next morning they paid the farmer well for their food and lodging. They sailed up the river, close to the southern shore, in mist and rain, keeping a sharp lookout for the building that Dunham had described.

There was a small settlement on the shore, then woods, then a log building, square like a frontier fort, which they took for their goal. Fergus brought the skiff up to the bank, dropped the sail, and helped Mrs. Talbot to land. The mist had grown so thick that it hid objects a score of yards away.

Mrs. Talbot and Nigel stayed in the shelter of the woods while Fergus and Michael went up to the log house. They rapped on the door. A man with a grizzled beard opened it. Fergus asked him a few questions about the neighborhood, explaining that they were very wet and cold, and would like to find a tavern or some place where they could get a bottle of ale or brandy. The jailer said that one of his neighbors had spirits for sale, and suggested that he should show them the place. Fergus accepted the offer, and they went about half a mile down the road to the neighbor's, where Fergus showed a gold piece and was provided with a bottle of brandy.

Fergus saw that the jailer's glass was kept well filled. They became great friends across the table, and presently the jailer was telling his new acquaintances everything he knew. He had only one prisoner at present, a very fine gentleman from Maryland, Mr. George Talbot, and he felt very sorry for his prisoner because the latter's only crime was of falling foul of a tax-collector. Fergus suggested that the jailer hardly needed many assistants to keep guard over one man. The jailer answered that he only had two assistants, a young fellow only just lately arrived from England, and a lout of a boy.

When Fergus had learned all he wanted he paid for the bottle of brandy, tucked the bottle under his arm, and with Michael, walked back to the log house with the bearded man. There he thanked the latter for his kindness, and presented him with the bottle, which was still half filled. It seemed very probable that the jailer would use up the rest of the brandy on such a damp day.

The two went back to the woods and made their report. In the skiff there were provisions, and Mrs. Talbot and her friends had dinner there, and tried to keep as much out of the wet as they could. Then they waited for dusk, and the two men and the boy looked to the priming of their pistols.

The men, muffled in greatcoats, the woman, in fur cloak and hood, went up to the log house in the winter twilight. Nigel beat on the door with his fist, and after a considerable wait the door was opened by a young fellow, who looked as if he had only just been waked from a sound nap.

Mrs. Talbot, slipping her hood back from her head, smiled at the rather dull-looking fellow. "Can you shelter me from the storm?" she asked, in most appealing tones. "I'm wet and cold, and I'm afraid we've lost our way."

The boy didn't often see such a fine-looking woman, evidently no farmer's wife, but one of the gentry. "I'll go ask Master Hugh," he said. "Step in from the wet. This is no tavern, but a prison, my lady. Howsomever, I'll go ask Master Hugh."

The fellow hurried away, and Mrs. Talbot and her three companions stepped in. In a minute the serving-lad was back. "Master Hugh'll see you in his room," he announced, jerking his head in the direction of that apartment.

He stood aside, while the lady, Nigel and Michael went to the jailer's room. Fergus, hanging back a minute, slipped a gold piece into the fellow's hand, whispering, "A lady of quality. Be sure you speak her fairly." The youth squinted at the piece of money, a coin of greater value than any he had seen.

Master Hugh was drinking the last of the brandy as the party entered his room. The candle-light showed that he was far more disposed to be merry than suspicious. "A lady!" he exclaimed, getting to his feet and bowing. "'Tis a shame things are so rude here! Be seated, my lady." Then, recognizing Fergus and Michael, he smiled broadly. "Well met, my friends. Sit ye down. 'Tis a raw night. We must make ourselves comfortable." He glanced at the brandy bottle. "If I'd known company was coming, I'd have been more ready to give welcome," he added.

Mrs. Talbot loosened her cloak and smiled at the jailer as if she was delighted at his hospitality. "It's very agreeable here, I do assure you, Master Hugh," she said. "Good company is better than wine or food."

"So I think," said the jailer, flattered at the lady's graciousness.

"If my son and I might go out to the kitchen to dry our feet——" suggested Fergus.

"George, show them to the kitchen fire," the jailer ordered the boy, who stood staring in the doorway.

Mrs. Talbot drew her chair a little closer to Master Hugh. "My skiff met with a mishap as I was on my way to visit friends up the river," she said. And then she used all her arts to fascinate the jailer.

Fergus and Michael followed George to the kitchen. A man was scouring an iron pot on the hearth and looked up in some surprise. "They wants to dry their feet," George explained.

Fergus and his son pulled off their boots, showing their wet stockings. "Could Master Hugh spare you long enough to run down to the village and fetch us a bottle of brandy?" Fergus asked, and he held another shining gold piece so that George could catch its glitter.

George thought he had never seen such attractive strangers. "I think he might," he said, and left the room in haste, intent on winning the second coin.

The man at the hearth, seeing the gold piece, made room for the two strangers to stand near the fire. He also grew talkative, as Fergus, in a very friendly fashion, asked him various questions. He said there were only four men in the house at present, Master Hugh, the boy George, himself, and a prisoner, who lodged in a small room off the kitchen. He indicated the door to the prisoner's room.

"We have a lady with us," Fergus said after a time. "She's cold with being so long out in the rain. If you could build up the fire I might ask her in here to warm herself. She'll pay you well for your trouble." He held out a gold piece to the man, who took it readily enough, slipped it into his pocket, and straightway commenced to put new logs on the fire.

As the man placed the last log and turned to stand up again he found himself confronting a pistol-barrel. "Not a word!" murmured Fergus. "Keep your hands at your side!" He nodded to Michael, who had pulled a cord from under his jacket. "Bind him fast," he ordered. "Now we've no wish to do you harm," he added to his prisoner. "Only a rope round your hands and a cloth over your mouth. We'll put a couple more gold pieces in your pocket too, so that if you lose this place you'll have enough to find you another."

The pistol kept the man quiet until he was bound and gagged. Then Fergus slipped two coins into his pocket. That done, he ran to the door and drew back the bolt. But he found the door was not only bolted, but locked as well. He had no time to hunt for the key, so he threw himself against the door, and at the third try found the lock gave way. On a stool inside sat George Talbot. To his amazed master Fergus explained quickly what they must do.

Fergus and Michael and Talbot, all in their stocking-feet, their boots in their hands, stole down the hall. The lady who was entertaining Master Hugh had asked Nigel to close the door behind her so as to shut out the draught. The three men crept down the hall, past the jailer's door, and slipped out of the house. There they drew their boots on. Then Michael hurried his master down to the edge of the woods and the waiting skiff.

Fergus went back to the jailer's room. "I've sent my boy to the village to engage you a room for the night, my lady," said he. "If you are warm and rested, we might make our start."

"Certainly," agreed the lady. She smiled at Master Hugh. "You've been most kind to me," she said. "I shall tell all my friends how courteous a gentleman you are."

The jailer beamed his pleasure. "'Tis a thousand shames such a gentle lady should have to walk to the village," said he. "I own I could give you only poor quarters here. But I could saddle you a horse." He rose. "Where's that rascal George?"

"No, no," said Mrs. Talbot. "I'm afraid we've put you out more than we should already." She opened a bag at her belt and laid a piece of money on the table. "For your hospitality, Master Hugh," she said, with a gracious smile.

The jailer made his best bow. "A pleasure, madam, a pleasure," he assured her. "I ask no pay for that." But he let the coin lie on the table instead of returning it.

Mrs. Talbot and Nigel and Fergus went to the door, Master Hugh after them. There the jailer made more bows and spoke more pleasant words as the lady fastened her cloak and pulled her hood over her hair. "You can find the road?" he asked Fergus.

"Yes, I know the road," said Fergus.

As they left the log house they saw some one coming toward them. It was George with the precious bottle. "Take it to Master Hugh with my compliments," said Fergus. Then as they moved away he murmured, "That ought to keep our friend from finding out what's happened for some time."

They sped to the woods and the skiff. Talbot and Michael were waiting in the boat with the sail raised. "Oh, my dear wife!" exclaimed Talbot, as he clasped the devoted woman in his arms. "'Twas almost worth being in such peril to find you here again!"

The skiff stole down the Rappahannock in the rain and darkness, carrying the outlaw Talbot back to his plantation.

III

The skiff retraced its course up Chesapeake Bay. The only landings it made were for food and water, and at such times George Talbot kept closely hidden, while Fergus or Michael or Edward Nigel did the parleying. For Talbot was known by sight to almost every one who lived on the shore of the great bay, and they all knew as well that he had been a prisoner of the governor of Virginia. News could travel surprisingly fast through the wilderness, and the hunters and farmers, though having the best of intentions toward him, might hinder his escape from Lord Howard of Effingham.

The skiff brought them safely to the Susquehanna, and Talbot, his wife, and his three friends landed and went up to his manor-house. There was great rejoicing among all his retainers, and the story of his rescue from the Virginia prison was told again and again, and each time it was told it gained in thrills. But Fergus Rowan told every man, woman, and child on the plantation that no whisper of the chief's whereabouts must get beyond the limits of his farms. The chief was safely out of Virginia, but Lord Howard had great influence in Maryland, and might try to capture George Talbot again.

A fortnight later Michael, who had been sent to Baltimore City on business, brought back word that the governor of Virginia had raised a great hue and cry when he found his prisoner escaped, had sent his agents into Maryland to find out where Talbot had gone, and had compelled Lord Baltimore's own agents to help him in the search.

"The first place where they would look is here," Mrs. Talbot said to her husband. "We must find some hiding-place for you."

"Can you think of one, Michael?" asked Talbot. "Boys are apt to know the most concerning places to hide."

Michael thought of all the places near the plantation. "There's a cave in the river bank up in the woods," he said presently. "I don't think any one could find you there."

So Talbot and his wife and Michael looked for the hiding-place. The cave was large, and was surrounded by thickets, and screened by bushes from any one on the river. It seemed just the place that was wanted. Fergus and Nigel were told about it, but no one else; and plans were made to send provisions by a roundabout path.

There were wild fowl in the marshes of the river, and Talbot could hunt them almost from the door of his cave. He caught two hawks and trained them to catch wild fowl and so help to stock his larder. While Nigel and Fergus kept watch at the plantation, always on the lookout for any suspicious-appearing stranger, Michael, fowling-piece in his hand, would make his way along the Susquehanna, and, joining his master, spend hours with him training the pair of hawks.

The outlaw,—for that was what Talbot was now, with a price set on his head,—had only been in hiding for a few days when officers, both of Lord Baltimore and of the governor of Virginia, came to the plantation. Mrs. Talbot was at the manor-house with Fergus. To the officers' questions as to where her husband had fled, she answered with a question: "Would he come back here, where he would expect his enemies to be certain to search for him?"

It was clear that neither she nor Fergus would tell the men anything they might know about Talbot. She told them to search the house and the plantation. The officers made their search, while Michael, hunting fowls along the river, kept watch, ready to warn his master to draw back into his cave, in case the searchers should hunt along the bank.

The men didn't go anywhere near the cave, and left the plantation without any inkling of where Talbot had gone. But for several days his wife and friends were careful not to go near his hiding-place, lest spies might be watching them.

Lord Howard of Effingham had had all ships sailing from Virginia and Maryland searched for the fugitive. He had spread a net pretty well over both provinces, for he was determined to catch George Talbot if he possibly could. Another man might have given up the chase when he found no clue, but not so the determined governor of Virginia. As a result his agents came to the plantation time and again, and Talbot had to stay in his hiding-place while winter changed to spring, and spring to summer, and the next autumn came. Michael was his companion much of the time, but idleness was hard for a man of Talbot's nature.

The people on the plantation were faithful to their master, and gave no sign that they suspected he might be in hiding not very far away. But such a secret was hard to keep through many months, and at last some of Lord Baltimore's officers got wind in some way of the farmers' suspicions. They waited until they heard from London that Lord Baltimore had been successful in getting an order from the Privy Council of England directing that the governor of Virginia should send Talbot to London for trial instead of trying him in the province, and then they swooped down on the plantation, found Talbot, and forced him to surrender.

The outlaw chief rode to Baltimore City a prisoner. His wife went with him, and Michael to wait on her. In the town he learned from his friends that he was to be tried in England, not in Virginia. That was some comfort, and his wife told him that as soon as she learned that he had sailed for Europe she would take ship too, and meet him there. She had friends in London, and they might have much influence with the Privy Council.

The Maryland officers handed their prisoner over to the agents of the Virginia governor. These took him to Lord Howard, who had him put in a prison that was more securely guarded than the one on the Rappahannock had been. In prison George Talbot cooled his heels for some time, while his wife and Michael waited in Baltimore City to learn of his sailing for England.

Lord Howard of Effingham had grown so arbitrary as governor of Virginia,—where he had almost as much power as the king had in England,—that, instead of obeying the order of the Privy Council and sending his prisoner to London, he kept him in prison during the winter of 1685, and then in April of that year actually dared to announce that he meant to place Talbot on trial in Virginia for the killing of Christopher Rousby.

Word of this came to Mrs. Talbot and her friends in Maryland. Lord Howard was disobeying the law of England in not sending Talbot there for trial, but, notwithstanding that, he might, in his tyrannical fashion, try Talbot, convict him, and even execute him. His wife could do nothing to prevent this if she stayed in Maryland; so, faithful and brave as ever, she took passage in a merchantman for England, and crossed the Atlantic Ocean, with Michael as her squire.

Michael, used to the wilderness of the colonies, with only a few scattered settlements to break the stretches of woods and meadows, opened his eyes very wide at the multitude of houses, the throngs of people, that he saw in the city by the Thames. He went with Mrs. Talbot to call on Lord Baltimore, the owner of the province of Maryland. Lord Baltimore listened intently to Mrs. Talbot's story, and grew red in the face with anger when he heard how the governor of Virginia was making light of the order of the Privy Council.

"I will at once see the most influential members of the Council, Madame," said Lord Baltimore. "I will see my friend Tyrconnel, I will go to His Majesty himself, if need be, to secure Mr. Talbot his rights. I knew Lord Howard to be a headstrong knave; I'd not suspicioned him to be a traitor also! I'll bring him to time right soon!"

"It must be soon, my lord," said Mrs. Talbot. "The governor may bring Mr. Talbot to trial any day."

"I'll go at once," Lord Baltimore assured her. "We'll have a message sent to Virginia by the next ship out."

Mrs. Talbot and Michael went back to their lodgings, and Lord Baltimore hastened to his influential friend Tyrconnel, who took him to the king, James II. Hot with indignation, Baltimore denounced the illegal act of the governor of Virginia. He made it plain that Lord Howard was actually daring to defy His Majesty's orders in his province.

The king frowned. "Indeed, my Lord Baltimore, it does look as if our governor of Virginia were growing somewhat overfed with pride. Our Privy Council orders your man Talbot sent here for trial on the charge of killing a tax-collector, and instead Lord Howard holds him and threatens to try him there. I will teach my obstinate governor a lesson." He turned to a page and bade him fetch writing materials.

The king wrote a few lines in his own hand, and handed the paper to Baltimore. It was a pardon in full for George Talbot. "Send that to Virginia as fast as you can," said the king. "If Howard fails to heed that, I shall have to appoint another governor in his stead."

Lord Baltimore went directly to Mrs. Talbot's lodgings and showed her the king's pardon. "We must send it to Virginia at once," said he.

"Let my boy Michael Rowan take it," said Mrs. Talbot. "There is none would do more for my husband."

So Michael sailed for America with the precious document. His ship made a quick passage to Virginia; and it was fortunate it did, for no sooner had he landed at Jamestown than he heard that Talbot had been put on trial, had been convicted of murder, and was waiting execution.

Michael carried the king's pardon to Lord Howard. The governor read it and considered it. Apparently he realized that this was an order he did not dare disobey. So he gave directions to his officers to set the prisoner free.

Michael was the first friend George Talbot saw when he came out of prison, no longer an outlaw with a price upon his head, but a free man. "You were with me when I caused this trouble, Michael," said Talbot, gripping the boy by the hand, "and you're with me now when the trouble's at an end. God bless you for a faithful friend to me!"

He asked news of his wife, and when he learned that she had gone to London and had besought Lord Baltimore to rescue him from the governor of Virginia he said, "We must go to her, Michael. First a trip to the plantation to get the funds and set matters straight there, and then over the sea to England!"

So Talbot and Michael rode north to the manor-house on the Susquehanna in the summer. It was not like the voyage in the skiff, when the outlaw had to keep constantly in hiding. Now he rode openly, and everywhere people who knew who he was flocked to shake his hand and welcome him back to Maryland.

They reached the plantation and there Fergus Rowan and Edward Nigel and all the other retainers gave their chief a great welcome. But his thoughts were over the ocean, and he quickly gave directions what should be done in his absence, and went to Baltimore City to take ship. He wanted Michael to go with him, and Michael's parents consented, for the boy was now grown to be a man, and they thought it well that he should see something of the world.

Husband and wife met in London, and Michael made his home with them there, serving as Talbot's secretary, and learning the ways of a world vastly different from that of the plantation on the Susquehanna.

Talbot never returned to Maryland. He had not been in England long when the revolution broke out that placed William of Orange on the throne. Talbot, ever an adventurous spirit, took the side of James II and the Stuarts, fought as a Jacobite, and when the Stuart cause was lost, went to France and entered the service of the French king.

Michael, however, went back, was granted land by Lord Baltimore, and made his own farm in the fertile country of northern Maryland. George Talbot had always been more of an adventurer than a planter or farmer, but Michael Rowan preferred to till his own fields, though he never forgot the thrill of excitement of the days when he had served his outlawed chief.